


Green and Blue

by Nia_River



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 35,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nia_River/pseuds/Nia_River
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thanks to a sacrifice by his closest friend Neville Longbottom, Harry is given the chance to do it all again. What will he change and what will he keep the same? And more confusingly, are his feelings for Neville more than platonic?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saying Goodbye

**Sometime in the not too distant future**

Noise from behind him caused Harry to spin around, wand at the ready. He sighed, first with relief to see it was only Neville, and secondly with annoyance that the man was up and about when he should still be in bed.

"Neville," he scolded, concern in his eyes, as he jumped up to steady his friend. "What do you think you're doing?"

The blond huffed and rolled his eyes, even as he leant into the support.

"I may be weak Harry, but I'm not dead yet. I was bored out of my mind lying in that bed. I'd started naming the mouldy spots on the ceiling. First there was Ernest, and then Henry, then Clarissa, then Sue and Robert, and-"

"Alright, I get it!" And now Harry rolled _his_ eyes, smiling despite himself. "You needed a change of scenery. I guess I'm finished here anyway."

At the last comment, the messy-haired man's tone had turned serious. His grip on Neville's elbow tightened, and he clenched his jaw, looking away. A hand on his shoulder turned his attention back to soft, understanding eyes.

"It's okay Harry. I'm the one who's choosing this, of my own free will."

"Hermione should have never invented it in the first place."

He tried to growl the words, but his anger was rather undermined by the fact that his bookish friend had met her end only four months previously. He and Hermione had grown apart, as she began standing by Ron during those times when the redhead's jealousy overcame his sense and he deserted Harry. He understood that as Ron's girlfriend, a certain amount of loyalty between the two was to be expected, but he'd never quite forgiven either of them for their fickle support. Despite that though, the death of first Ron then more recently Hermione had been a painful blow, and he missed them terribly. And as a result, his anger at the woman was half hearted at best.

"She never intended for us to see it, you know that," Neville pointed out. "The notes were well hidden. It's only chance we found them."

"Still …"

"Look, what are our alternatives here? Honestly Harry. You wait the few months it'll take for me to finally die or-"

"You don't know that!"

"No one has ever survived the curse."

"But you're still here, four months later."

"It's slow acting. You know this," was the patient reply.

Harry sighed and slumped forward to lean his forehead against Neville's shoulder, feeling the hand on his own shoulder tighten.

"I know," he said defeatedly. "But as the Muggle say: 'where there's life, there's hope'."

"Exactly. I'm still alive, but not for much longer. My hope is to give you a new beginning; one where half of Wizarding Britain isn't decimated. I'll make it my 'last wish' if a guilt trip is what it'll take," he threatened in a light tone and received a half-hearted laugh.

"Okay," Harry nodded, pulling back to stand straight, looking down at his last friend's resolute face, and repeated, "Okay." He looked behind him to the two potions bubbling over a fire. "Let's go over this one more time. It's simple. You take the white potion. Then you-"

"Say the words, and then die," Neville said simply, softly, and Harry flinched.

"Die," he repeated in a whisper. "And I take seven drops of your blood, add it to the blue potion. It should turn red. Then I drink, say the words, and … and that's it. Simple."

"Hermione always was one for efficiency," Neville said and Harry nodded. "Promise me something."

"What?" Harry asked.

"We don't know how far this will take you. If you arrive before first year, don't let me flounder for nearly five years before finding myself." He looked directly into green eyes as he spoke. "I never would have if not for you, you know."

"Neville, sure you would have."

"No. It was your support and confidence in me that gave me confidence in myself," he said, willing his friend and leader to believe him.

Harry nodded slowly. "Okay, I promise. Not that I wasn't planning to make friends with you earlier anyway."

"Thank you. And also … since it's my last chance, I wanted you to know-" he halted, then looked away.

One hand was still on Harry's shoulder, partly to keep him upright, but Neville's free hand fidgeted nervously with the edge of his sleeve. He looked up at the taller Harry occasionally, opening his mouth to speak, before seeming to change his mind.

"Nev, what is it?" Harry asked concerned, and when still the other man dithered said, "Come on, spit it out. You're a Gryffindor," he joked, "don't think, just do."

A peculiar expression overcame Neville then, and he muttered "Just do," before nodding, face transforming to decisive resolve. The next thing Harry knew, the blond had leaned toward him, face raised, and chapped lips were pressed to his own. Green eyes blinked in shock before, surprisingly, fluttering. Before he had a chance to respond further – either positively or negatively – Neville was pulling away, cheeks flushed. He avoided Harry's eyes, instead concentrating on his chin, but his head was held high and proud.

"So," the blond said, voice almost steady, "let's get on with it."

And then, not waiting for aid, Neville broke away from his friend's support and staggered across the room, where he carefully measured out an amount of the white liquid and, before the other man could come to his senses, downed the poisonous liquid in a single gulp.

"Neville!" Harry exclaimed, rushing over to carefully lower the weakening man to the floor. "What were you thinking?"

But all he said was, "A life given freely," in a faint whisper, "that life may be lived again."

Neville was fading before his very eyes. It was too late. The idiot had started the ritual, and said his words, and now all that was left was to continue.

He looked down into fading blue eyes, feeling conflicted. Neville had kissed him. Neville had _kissed_ him. _Neville_ had kissed _him_. No matter how many times or ways he repeated the thought his surprise refused to wane. What did it mean though? He'd always been rubbish at this sort of thing. Did the other man like him? Love him?

As if in response, a paling hand rose tremblingly from the floor to cup his cheek, and fingers fluttered across his lips before it fell away, too weak to continue. Harry gasped, tears prickling his eyes. Right, well … that answered that question. Even someone as dim as him had to understand the tenderness of that gesture.

Looking down into hazy blue eyes he searched within himself, wondering how he felt, and if he returned the feelings. He wasn't sure, but staring at that face, and those lips, slowly becoming pale, he knew one thing. He wanted to kiss Neville back. And so he did. The lips beneath his own felt different this time: colder. He felt them turn up at the corners in a smile, before sighing and going still. He pulled back slowly and looked down. Blue eyes were glazed over with death, but there was a content smile on his last friend's face.

Feeling numb, Harry reached up for the dagger and vial set out on the bench. His movements were automatic as he raised Neville's cold hand, pricked a finger, and squeezed out seven drops of blood. Gently setting the hand back down, he rose to his feet and approached the second cauldron. He poured in the contents of the vial, watched dispassionately as blue turn into red, then measured out the liquid.

It was as he stood there, cup in hand, that emotion returned to him and he grit his teeth not to cry. No, he would not make any sound that might interfere with the ritual. Instead he would follow the steps, honouring Neville's sacrifice. He looked down at the cooling body, then lowered himself to sit beside it, clasping the pricked hand in his own, then, without pause, swallowed the sweet tasting red potion. He could feel it, a warm sensation travelling down his throat then spreading out along his veins to his very extremities.

"I accept this life, freely given, that my life may be lived again."

The warmth in his veins pulsed, once, then twice, then a third time. Then his vision dimmed, and he knew no more.


	2. Taking the Train Again

**Sunday, 1 September, 1991**

"Have a good term," Uncle Vernon said smiling nastily at him before striding away.

Swaying on his feet, Harry reached out to grasp the cart before him, blinking to clear his vision. Looking around he found himself at Kings Cross Station, a caged Hedwig and his school trunk on a cart before him. Judging by the former presence of his uncle, who had only once accompanied him to the station, he knew it must be the first of September nineteen ninety-one: the beginning of first year. His smile at the success was tinged with sadness as he recalled the last few minutes he had experienced in the future.

He shook his head. "No time to brood now," he told himself through gritted teeth, after a glance at the clock above the arrivals board, "train leaves in sixteen minutes."

Determined not to let grief overtake him just yet, he took all his feelings of loss and shut them away tightly. As the pain eased somewhat, he reflected that the two arduous years practice it had taken him to finally learn Occlumency were well worth the effort. There were so many advantages to knowing the skill.

Next he glanced around briefly searching out a group of redheads. Finding none, he vacillated between waiting and just hurrying along on his own. On the one hand, the Weasley family had been (Or was that 'would be'? Or maybe 'had would been'?) very good to him. On the other, Molly was very smothering and controlling with 'her' children, and since Harry had been considered an honorary member of the family, he'd been subjected to it too. And then there was Ron, who would seemingly never quite grow past his jealousy of Harry. And Ginny, and her awkward fan-girlish crush, which grew into something of a possessive obsession. (He hadn't known till years later that the girl had chased off many of his potential girlfriends.) Was he really willing to put up with all that again? He wavered for a moment before deciding. No, perhaps it would be best to keep his distance from them. Although, befriending the twins could be beneficial …

Shaking his head at his thoughts, he turned his cart toward the ticket booth between platforms nine and ten. At a brisk pace he approached the barrier, not pausing as he reached the seemingly solid wall. Instead of crashing he passed right through, emerging on the hidden platform, nine and three quarters.

As he looked around a wave of reminiscing overcame him. He could hardly believe he was back here. The great red steam engine – the Hogwarts Express – sat waiting on the tracks just as he remembered. Smoke from the stack wafted over the crowd of witches and wizards, owls hooted noisily from their cages, and cats of all colours wove between people's legs. He glanced at familiar faces as he headed for the train, a wistful smile on his face.

Finding an empty compartment he climbed on board, casting a furtive " _Locomotor Trunk_ " to get his trunk up the steps. It was a different compartment to that which Ron had taken with him last time. He didn't dislike the boy and would still be friendly, but as he'd decided before, he'd been abandoned by the redhead enough to want to keep their relationship as no more than friendly acquaintances.

Directing his trunk up into the luggage rack, he gave a start of surprise as a loud *CROAK* sounded. Climbing up on the seat, he found a fortuitous surprise. None other than Trevor the toad was hiding at the back of the rack. He considered grabbing the animal, but he had nothing to put it in, so instead he closed his compartment door so it could not escape. This would be a perfect way to connect with Neville. He just had to wait for him to show up, asking after his lost pet.

Before too long a whistle blew and the train gave a lurch as it slowly began to move. Outside the window he saw students hastily jumping aboard, and others leaning out windows to wave goodbye to their parents, who waved back in turn. Then they were picking up speed, rounding a corner, and the platform was left behind.

To Harry's surprise it was five minutes before the door slid open. He'd expected someone to come by searching for a seat sooner. Looking up his breath caught, and he struggled to look no more than curious. He had to reinforce his Occlumency shields to do so.

"Hello," he said to the worried looking boy.

"Hi, have you seen a toad at all?"

"Actually, I have," he said pointing upwards. "There's one behind my trunk up there. Hold on, I'll grab it for you."

Clambering up on the seat once more, he gave a yelp of surprise as Trevor, perhaps sensing imminent capture, made a leap for freedom. His hands automatically snapped out, catching the airborne amphibian. Unfortunately he'd leant back, and since his hands were now occupied holding the toad, there was nothing to keep him stable.

The air left his lungs with an, "Oomph!" as he landed. Luckily, he connected not with the hard ground, but rather found himself sprawled out on the padded seat opposite.

"Are you alright?" a concerned voice asked.

Blinking he looked up at the younger version of his friend, and dumbly – for he was still a little stunned by the fall – held out his hands in offering.

"This him?"

"Trevor!" Neville cried joyfully, taking possession of his pet. "Thank you so much. I thought I'd lost him."

"No problem. Don't you have a cage or tank or something for him?"

Neville shook his head. "No. Well, yes, but the terrarium's too big and heavy to carry around, so it's shrunken in my trunk. Gran says to ask an older student to enlarge it for me when I get to my dorm."

"Do you have anywhere to sit yet? You could stay here and we could close the door. That'd keep him contained for the train ride."

Neville looked at him in surprise. "Sure! I mean, I haven't really got a seat yet. I've been busy looking for Trevor. I just left my trunk in a spare compartment."

"Great!" Harry grinned. "Do you need to fetch your trunk, or can it stay there?"

Neville shook his head. "No it should be okay," he said, taking a seat opposite. "Gran told me you just leave your luggage on the train and it gets taken up," he explained, but then looked worried. "Do you think it matters what compartment I leave it in?"

"Nah, probably not," he said and the other boy relaxed. "I'm Harry by the way. Harry Potter."

Predictable Neville gaped at his introduction, though in contrast to when Harry had sat with Ron last time around, _this_ boy had the good grace to look abashed and apologetic at his reaction. He also made no requests to see his scar or tactless comments asking whether he remembered the night of his parents' murders.

"Sorry," Neville mumbled, looking nervous.

"It's okay," he said immediately, hoping to put the blond at ease. "I'm kinda getting used to it, even if I don't much like all the fuss. It's a bit odd really, thinking I was perfectly normal all my life, only to find out I'm actually a wizard, and a celebrity at that."

"You didn't know?" was the shocked reply.

"Nope. I live with my aunt and uncle." He wrinkled his nose. "They're Muggles."

"Oh," Neville said quietly, hesitantly. "Y-you don't like Muggles?"

"Oh no," he assured, "I'm fine with Muggles. It's my relatives I don't like." He hurried on, not wanting to bring the mood down by talking about them. "Living Muggle, I never found out I was famous. A man named Hagrid came to deliver my letter. He was the one who told me. Of course I didn't really believe him till he took me to the Leaky Cauldron. They practically mobbed me." He shivered at the memory, not entirely unfeigned, and Neville looked sympathetic. "Believe me, it was not fun. Anyway what about you? Is your family all magical?"

"Yes, all of them. Gran brought me up and she's a witch. They family was so happy when I finally showed some accidental magic. They thought for awhile," he whispered, "that I must be a Squib."

"Squib?" he pretended confusion.

"Yeah, a Muggle born to magical parents," he explained. "Great Uncle Algie was always trying to catch me off guard, to scare some magic out of me. Once he pushed me off Blackpool pier, and I nearly drowned. It finally happened when I was eight though. He was hanging me out an upstairs window when Aunt Enid offered him a meringue. He completely forgot about me and let go, but then I bounced all the way down the garden to the road!"

Harry frowned, unsure whether to simply smile along, or express his true opinion. He never had liked the sound of Neville's family. His great uncle basically terrorised him, putting him in dangerous situations, as though his great nephew being magical was more important than his safety. His great aunt never participated but also never objected. Then there was his grandmother who forever spoke down to him, making Neville feel unworthy – something that took him years at Hogwarts to grow out of.

"H-Harry?" a hesitant voice asked, and he realised some of his feelings must have been visible on his face.

"Sorry, it's just-" he hesitated himself now before deciding to be blunt. "You make it sound like they cared more about you being a wizard than your wellbeing. You said your great-uncle nearly killed you at least twice." He shrugged. "Sorry, it's not really my business. It just doesn't sound right is all."

Neville looked a little bewildered, and then thoughtful and considering. Silence enveloped the compartment for a time and he watched as the other boy's expression slowly shifted, looking at Harry with hesitant appreciation. He knew it was because he wasn't used to someone standing up for him.

"I guess," he spoke, breaking the silence, "I never thought about it that way. I- I'm sure they meant well," he said but his tone was less than confident.

"Maybe," Harry agreed, not wanting to make things any more awkward.

Neville seemed relieved he'd decided not to pursue the subject. In the future it had been post-Hogwarts before the blonde boy gave this subject such consideration. If it had been an unpleasant realisation then, he could only imagine how uncomfortable an eleven year old Neville must feel thinking on the topic.

"So," he said, "are you excited about Hogwarts then?"

The question worked. The atmosphere relaxed and conversation flowed from there. Neville explained that his parents had been Gryffindors, but he'd probably be a Hufflepuff. Harry, not liking the self-deprecating tone stanchly asserted that loyalty and worth ethic were admirable traits to have. But if he really wanted Gryffindor, he was sure Neville could find within himself what it took to make the cut.

"Besides," he added with resolve, "I've decided I like you. Unless you object I'd like us to be friends, no matter what houses we both end up in."

Neville seemed partly sceptical that he had the guts for Gryffindor, pleased and embarrassed that Harry liked him, and also grateful for the support. Harry's observant eye also noted the way he straightened in his seat, looking a touch more confident.

The rest of the trip passed in companionable conversation. The trolley lady stopped by partway through, and both he and Neville bought a few sweets. As the sky darkened and the train neared Hogsmeade, and they began pulling on their robes, Harry took a moment to wonder why Malfoy had yet to stop by and introduce himself. He quickly realised that without the Weasley twins spreading word of his presence, Draco hadn't known to come look.

..ooOOoo..

An hour later Neville and Harry were happily sorted into Gryffindor. And some hours after that, both boys were settled in their dorm room, comfortably ensconced in their four-poster beds along with the rest of their new dorm mates.

As he lay there, Harry slowly allowed some of his Occlumency repressed emotions to rise. He had learned the hard way that using the skill to bottle emotions for overlong was a bad idea. It just built up pressure till you exploded. Harry had done so only once, in spectacular fashion, with accidental magic to highlight the screaming, crying and hysterical laughing. After that he had learnt his lesson and made sure to let his true feelings rise regularly.

Looking up at the roof of his drawn and silence-spelled curtains, he felt tears prick his eyes. Merlin but this whole situation was bittersweet. Seeing all these faces that he'd seen die, but realising that now they were alive. Only, Harry still remembered their deaths. Especially Neville. Neville who was so shy and innocent and lacking confidence in this time. Neville who had died for him.

Turning away from his grief for a moment, strengthening the shield over the emotion, he instead contemplated another thought that was now swirling about his head. Neville had kissed him. Neville kissed him, and he had kissed back. What did this mean?

Opinions on homosexuality differed in the Wizarding World, as compared to the Muggle one. It was much more accepted and those that way inclined were much less persecuted. Not to say that there weren't those against it, but for the most part the practice was viewed as a personality quirk, and something of an oddity. Not flattering, but not malicious either. The main objection to homosexuality came when pureblood scions wished to practice it exclusively. After all, same-sex pairings couldn't really produce children, and purebloods families lent such high importance to the 'carrying on of their line'.

But the real question was, was _he_ homosexual. Well no, obviously not. If his awkward 'thing' with Cho didn't highlight that he got stupid for girls, then the few purely sexual encounters he'd had over the years at least proved he was attracted to them. But then, he reflected, there had been that drunken fumbling with the handsome Italian wizard who had joined the resistance. He'd put the whole thing down to alcohol at the time, but what if there had been more to it. Perhaps he was bisexual?

He sighed and rolled onto his side, realising he was asking himself the wrong questions. The question was: was he attracted to Neville? He considered the man he remembered. Round faced, well muscled, with blonde hair that fell over sky blue eyes, and a sweet grin. He was cute, he admitted, definitely cute. It was hard to tell with this pre-hormonal body, but he thought the attraction was there, even if he'd never noticed before.

He sighed once more, deciding that he wouldn't really need to worry about this for a few years yet. That is to say if Neville even became fond of him that way again. He'd already changed things after all. Still now was not the time to worry about that. He had a boatload of grief trapped behind mental shields that he wanted to begin working through tonight.

And so he lowered those barriers fully, and let loss and defeat and grief overwhelm him. Harry cried himself to sleep that night, but it was a cathartic experience. By morning, with the reassurance that this new chance was real, he felt lighter and happier than he had in a long time.


	3. Malfoys, Brooms & Potions

**Monday, 2 September, 1991**

Two events of note occurred on Monday morning, the first full day at Hogwarts.

Firstly, the inevitable confrontation with Malfoy took place in the morning before their first class. Clued in as to Harry's identity from the sorting ceremony, the Slytherin intercepted him leaving the Great Hall after breakfast. The conversation went very much as it had last time around on the train: a pretentious introduction followed by a veiled invitation to become another of Malfoy's toadies, only associating with people the blond approved of. He of course refused, and even tried to be tactful about it. It seemed Malfoy didn't take rejection well in any form however. And so Malfoy's dislike for Harry Potter was reborn.

Secondly, Ron Weasley found his pet rat Scabbers had gone missing. No matter how hard he looked he couldn't find the rodent. He seemed a bit upset, but not to terribly so. After all, he'd only had the pet for about a month, since Percy made prefect and got an owl, leaving Ron to inherit the rat. He'd really not had time to get attached.

No one appeared to notice the fact that Harry Potter seemed secretly pleased whenever the topic of the missing pet arose.

..ooOOoo..

**Thursday, 12 September, 1991**

The Gryffindor and Slytherin first years were assembled in two lines on the front lawn of Hogwarts. Each student was stood beside a broom.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

It was no surprise to Harry that his broom leapt into his grasp at once. If he'd managed the feat straight off first time around, then his additional several years of flying could only have added to his mastery of a broomstick.

Looking around he saw that most others had failed. He dismissed them from his mind however, and looked instead to Neville who stood at his left. His voice was tremulous as he called his broomstick, and it was clear he didn't want to be doing this. As a result the broom didn't move at all.

"I don't know if brooms are the same, but they say horses can tell when a rider's afraid," Harry commented to his friend.

"I can't help it," the other boy almost whimpered. "I told you Gran never let me ride one. I think it's because she was afraid I'd fall off. What if she's right?"

"What's this Longbottom?" a snide voice called out from opposite them. "Your own grandmother thinks you're a clumsy oaf? Not to mention that Remembrall you got a breakfast. So I should actually say a forgetful, clumsy oaf."

Malfoy kept his voice low enough that the teacher wouldn't hear, but the nearest Slytherins (Goyle, Crabbe, and Parkinson) heard and snickered. Of the Gryffindors, only Hermione heard, from her position on Neville's other side. She spared a disdainful sniff and glare for the blonde Slytherin's attitude, but was too focussed on getting her broom to obey to get more involved.

As for Neville, the boy was looking more miserable than before. Harry knew there was no way his friend would get anywhere with his current attitude.

"Shut up Malfoy," he said in a negligent tone that he knew would bother the Slytherin, then turned to his friend. "Look Neville, just calm down, alright. Look at me. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Yeah," Malfoy jeered, "up till you fall from the air and break your neck."

He growled as any progress he made was undermined. Sending the nuisance a harsh glare, he stepped out of line and in front of Neville, blocking his view of the Slytherins.

"Look it'll be fine Neville. You just need to calm down and be confident."

"But what if I fall?"

"I'll catch you," he said with deadly seriousness.

"And you'll squash him to death lard-bottom," Malfoy piped up from behind him.

"Listen Nev," he grabbed his friend's arms and stared him straight in the eye, "who are you gonna believe, me or Malfoy? I. will. catch. you. I promise."

Blue eyes surveyed him measuringly and, seeing his conviction, indecision slowly faded from Neville's face to be replaced by determination. He let his grip fall from the boy's shoulders and stepped back, watching as Neville stuck his hand out over his broom.

"Up!" he said with confidence.

And the broom jumped into his hands. Neville's eyes went wide with surprise, and a pleased smile spread across his face. Harry grinned back and stepped back into his place in line, watching approvingly as his friend stubbornly ignored any further Slytherin baiting.

The rest of the lesson went surprisingly well. Reassured by Harry's words, presence and promise, Neville did not jump the gun and go tumbling from his broom, as had happened the last time round. Instead he faced the lesson with caution tempered bravery. The results? Well, the blond would never be the best flier, but he easily managed to get through the lesson without incident. By the time class was dismissed he was more confident on a broom and wasn't dreading the next lesson in the slightest.

Harry had a moment's regret for his lost spot on the Quidditch team when Hooch pulled him aside to compliment his flying, and suggest he try out next year. But only a moment. After all, he had spared his friend a fall and a broken wrist, and helped him get past his fear of flying. It was a more than equitable trade.

..ooOOoo..

**Friday, 20 September, 1991**

If anyone were to doubt Harry's placement in Gryffindor, his determined insistence on continuing to partner Neville in Potions lessons was proof to the contrary. Three weeks into class, after the latest disaster of a Potions lesson and subsequent hospital visit, he decided to pull Neville aside for a chat.

"It just doesn't make sense," he explained. "You're brilliant at Herbology, and not just the handling of the plants – you know all about their properties and uses too. So you should have known that adding the Redtwill Fern fronds right after the Moondew moss would cause an explosion."

"I know," Neville said slumping and lowering his eyes. "I know I'm a disaster Harry, you don't need to rub it in."

"No!" he objected loudly. "No, Neville, that's not what I'm saying."

"Then what-"

"It's just that your problem in obviously nerves. It doesn't take a genius to realise Snape practically scares the magic out of you. Not that I blame you – has the man never heard of shampoo?" he asked and was rewarded with a quirked smile from his friend. "So I was thinking, maybe you'd be more confident if you knew for certain that you could brew the potion before going into the lesson."

"I think it's pretty obvious from the classes so far that I can't."

"Can't with Snape breathing down our necks you mean. At least not on your first attempt."

"What are you getting at?"

"I'm suggesting that we study ahead. Sometime before the lesson you take the time to pre-brew the set potion. I'll be there to help you out, and I know I'm not a genius at the subject or anything, but I am decent." An accomplishment he was quite proud of, given he also spent the lesson subtly fending off Legilimency probes from the nosy teacher. "Without Snape to stress you out, I really think you'll be able to get it right. _Then_ , when we have the class, you'll be able to draw on the certainty that you _can_ brew that potion. I really think it could help. What do you reckon?"

"Maybe that would work," Neville said, looking cautiously hopeful. "You don't mind though? Helping me out, I mean."

"Course not," he said, "that's what friends are for."

Neville beamed.

It was only once he had successfully posed his idea that Harry realised the flaw in his plan: they had nowhere to practice. Normally a student could petition the potions professor for extra lab time with supervision but that would hardly work given that: one, the professor was less than fond of them; and two, said professor was the problem.

He briefly considered using the Room of Requirement but quickly discarded that idea. If this worked and Neville improved, he just knew Snape would go digging in their minds for an explanation. And whilst _he_ was proficient in Occlumency – a skill that had taken him a long time to master – Neville's mind was wide open. Not even Dumbledore knew about that room in this timeline just yet, and he wanted to keep it a secret.

So, in the end, he had simply scouted out an abandoned classroom off an out of the way corridor. He showed it to Neville and the pair began dusting and sweeping, and with a good afternoon's hard work they managed to clean it up. He was pleased that not only did they now have an adequate place to practice, but the work had also distracted him from the fact that today was the first Gryffindor team Quidditch practice session, and he was not involved.

..ooOOoo..

That weekend, Harry guided Neville through the brewing of the Hiccup Potion. It took two tries, as Harry had difficulty keeping his friend calm (Snape was already having a lingering effect on his attitude to Potions), but the second attempt produced a purple, bubbling liquid, that was only a few shades off. Neville was shocked and delighted by his success.

The next Potions less rolled around, and Harry spent the lead up to class keeping Neville calm and confident. As Snape appeared and they filed into the classroom, the other boy began to waver.

"Come on Nev," he whispered encouragingly. "You're a Gryffindor, don't let him scare you. You can do this, you know you can. We've done it before."

That seemed to calm him down. The lesson from there progressed well. Harry only had to intervene once, when Neville almost added an ingredient too early. The almost accident nearly threw the other boy off but Harry talked him through it.

By the time class ended, a shocked Snape was presented with a completed potion that, whilst more blue than purple, was still decent enough to score them an A for the lesson. Of course once he recovered from his shock Snape scorned their efforts as usual. Neville was not to be brought down however, high on his success.

As they headed for the great hall for lunch Neville cheerfully told his friend that if he could continue doing pre-brewing under Harry's guidance, he really thought he had a chance of passing Potions. Harry honestly told him that he was only too happy to help.


	4. Of Advanced Students

**Thursday, 3 October, 1991**

Once she had finished her lecture, Professor McGonagall walked around the room handing out beetles. Harry absently used his wand to corral the little creature from crawling away as the professor demonstrated the wand movement and incantation one last time and told them to give it a try. A twirl of his wand later, Harry's beetle was replaced by a shiny black button. He turned to see how Neville was doing but a voice sounded from behind his shoulder.

"Excellent Mr Potter, simply excellent. It seems you have truly inherited your father's talent for Transfiguration. Can you now change it back? Very good," McGonagall complimented him and he noticed Hermione off to the side looking rather jealous. "Well, as with previous class assignments, I would like you now to add some complexity to your work please. You should always keep challenging yourself Mr Potter."

When she returned to him five minutes later, he had transfigured the beetle into a brass button with an embossed and enamelled Gryffindor crest. She complimented him and awarded further points and then gave him permission to relax for the rest of class. The very suggestion was the height of praise from a teacher who usually punished lazing about quite harshly.

He'd thought long and hard about how to act in lessons. Should he play down his strengths? He'd decided however that knowing his luck, he would quickly give himself away, thereby making people suspicious. It was a much better idea to simply do his best from the start and allow everyone to believe there was something to the whole boy-who-lived hype after all.

He spent the rest of class helping Neville to accomplish the assignment. Transfiguration was his second worse class, after Potions, but with Harry's determined instruction Neville had managed to change his beetle by the end of class. It retained the beetle's patterning and was slightly oblong like its former beetle self, but it was a button all the same, and the boy was proud of his efforts and grateful for the help.

"Mr Potter, please remain after class," McGonagall requested as she dismissed the lesson.

"I'll wait for you outside," Neville said and disappeared.

Harry remained seated and the professor came and took a seat in front of him.

"Professor?"

"Mr Potter, it seems to me that you are finding the class material too simple. You are always the first to accomplish your Transfiguration and can do so with a degree of elaborateness."

"Yes Professor. The magic just seems easy."

"I thoughts so. I would like you to consider two things: an accelerated learning program, and a tutoring position."

Harry blinked, then immediately objected. "Please professor, I want to stay in classes with Neville."

"You misunderstand me. I will provide you with a spell or topic for study. You will be expected to study both the theory and practical in your own time. Then, when you have mastered the spell you will come to see me, demonstrate your casting, and hand in an essay on the topic. Once I have assured you are competent, I will assign a new spell or topic for private study."

"Oh," Harry said, surprised at the idea. "So what will I be doing in classes?"

"That is where the tutoring position comes in. Since your learning will be accelerated, and I will already have ascertained your competence, you will spend the lesson helping the other students to master the day's task. That is of course for the practical portion. For the theoretical portion, you may work on your independent assignment."

Harry just sat blinking at her for a time. Not even Hermione had ever been offered this opportunity. He really must be impressing with his decision to work to his actual abilities.

"Well Potter?" McGonagall asked impatiently. "I know you're certainly capable. I've seen you assisting your friend Mr Longbottom. You have the knack for teaching, it's plainly obvious."

Harry considered for a moment. One the one hand, it would mean extra work. On the other, he really was bored out of his mind in class. The decision was obvious.

"I guess … okay, I'll do it."

Once she had assigned his first spell topic, he wandered out of the classroom looking a little dazed.

"Are you alright Harry?" Neville asked with concern, clambering to his feet from the floor where he'd sat to wait.

"I'm fine," he replied. "You won't believe what I just agreed to."

He explained the situation to Neville and was pleased when his friend congratulated him and assured him he'd do well. After all, the blond asserted, hadn't he already proven to be a good teacher in assisting Neville with Potions?

..ooOOoo..

The next Charms class, it became apparent that McGonagall and Flitwick had been exchanging notes and discussing his progress in both their classes with one another, as he was asked to remain behind and given a very familiar offer. It seemed he would be doing accelerated independent study, as well as tutoring during lessons, in both Transfiguration and Charms.

..ooOOoo..

**Thursday, 31 October, 1991**

As always, Harry's first 'student' when tutoring in class was Neville. He didn't care if it seemed like favouritism, his helping his friend first all the time. After all, it wasn't like he was an actual teacher. Charms being one of Neville's better subjects, the boy's feather was soon, if not floating freely, at least doing a jerking sort of hop. Confident Neville could manage from there, he decided to leave him to it and find someone else to assist.

He was about to head towards Seamus, who had somehow set fire to his feather, when a loud incantation from down the row drew his attention.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Harry heard Hermione snap. "It's Wing- _gar_ -dium Levi- _o_ -sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

With a start at the familiar conversation, Harry abruptly realised that it was Halloween. This incident, he remembered from last time, is what precipitated Ron's comments about Hermione's lack of friends and the girl's subsequent flight to the girl's toilet, where she was attacked by the troll. Wanting to avoid living that little disaster a second time, he quickly intervened. Ron was glad to have him take over his instruction, but Hermione, he saw, looked huffy and offended, and sent glares his way for the rest of the lesson.

When class let out Harry waited behind to hand in his latest essay to Flitwick and display his ability to cast a Cheering Charm. Task accomplished he left the classroom, expecting Neville to be waiting for him. Instead he found both Neville and Hermione.

"You! I want to talk to you," she announced angrily the moment he appeared.

"Oh?" he asked, and sent a questioning glance at Neville, who only shrugged. "Well, go ahead."

"I realise you're the top of the class Potter, but I'm good at Charms too-"

"I know that," he said and she pursed her lips at him for interrupting. "Sorry." He held his hands up defensively. "Please, continue."

"Well, as I was saying, I _am_ decent at the subject myself, so you had no right to just barge in and take over like you did."

"Barge in and take over?" he feigned confusion, though he had a fair idea of what she was talking about.

"With Ronald Weasley!"

"Ah."

"Yes, 'ah'. And it's not like there weren't other people in class who needed help. But no," she snapped, "you just had to help the person who I was clearly already assisting."

"Ron didn't seem to mind," Neville said, trying to defend his friend.

"I noticed that too!" she shrieked. "Is this some sort of boys only thing? Come on now, explain yourself."

Harry stared at her wonderingly. He had forgotten just how bossy and high strung she'd been before he and Ron befriended her. It was really rather annoying. Seeing her glare racketing up a notch, he hurried to respond.

"Do you want truth or tact?" he asked bluntly.

"Can't I have both?" she asked, thrown, and he frowned thoughtfully before shaking his head.

"No, not really."

"Then truth."

"Well the reason that I took over is the same reason Ron didn't mind. You see, I'm sure you don't mean it but you come across bossy as condescending. You were making Ron feel stupid and he was about to blow up at you."

At hearing his explanation, Hermione looked taken aback.

"I do?"

"You do."

"He was?"

"Just seconds away."

"You're not just saying this to be mean?" she asked suspiciously.

"No, I promise," he responded, and then she looked lost.

"Oh," Hermione finally said after an awkward pause, and then wandered off without a word.

..ooOOoo..

When Quirrell announced the troll's presence this time, and students were led to their dormitories, all the children were accounted for. Rather than chasing after and being forced to battle a highly dangerous creature, Harry spent the rest of Halloween sitting by Neville in the common room, eating of the portion of the feast that had been sent up to their to their common room. Hermione spent the evening sitting by herself in the corner looking somewhat miserable. But at least she wasn't in danger of being clubbed to death.

..ooOOoo..

Over the next few weeks, Harry noticed a change in Hermione. Quite often, when she was off on one of her lectures, she would stop mid-sentence, looking considering. Then, to the surprise and pleasure of her 'victim', she would back off. She also seemed to be trying to be more humble, toning down her aggressive confidence a little. It appeared that she had really heard what Harry told her and taken it on board, and was now trying to correct the problem. With her temperance, she was starting to remind him more of the Hermione he remembered.

He wasn't the only one to notice the change either. Neville commented to Harry about it and Ron was heard to rather tactlessly comment that: "She was a nightmare at first, but she's really gotten better, hasn't she?" Also, the other two Gryffindor first year girls had started including Hermione more in their conversations and free time. The part of Harry that had lost Hermione in the future was glad to see her doing so well and making friends.


	5. Mind Arts and Quidditch

**Wednesday, 6 November, 1991**

Neville was waiting for Harry in the classroom they'd claimed their own, reading over his Potions text. Potions class was on Friday and they were going pre-brew the assigned potion before the lesson, as had become habit.

Harry bounded into the room a few minutes later, a look of victory on his face, and dropped a book loudly on the desk. Neville looked up from his own text to glance at the blank-covered book, then gave his friend a questioning look.

"Harry? What's that for? To help with the Throat-Soothing Potion?"

"No," he shook his head, dropping into the seat opposite. " _This_ Nev, is the reason I've been spending so much time in the library the last few weeks. I think I've finally found what I was looking for."

Neville immediately perked up. Harry had been spending hours searching through the library shelves. For what, the blond didn't know, as the other boy insisted on keeping it a secret till he found his answer.

"What is it?" he asked, staring at fascination at the plain book. "What were you looking for?"

"Well, I've sort of considered it from the first Potions class, but told myself it was just fanciful thinking. But then when you got that first potion right a month and a half ago, it got more obvious, and I began to wonder. That's when I started researching."

"What was more obvious?"

"Have you ever noticed in Potions it feels like Professor Snape is reading your mind?"

Neville nodded. "It's his eyes. They're just really … piercing. And creepy."

"Well, I get that feeling a lot. But I also get this feeling like a 'tickle' in my mind, but I can push it away."

"I've never felt that before," Neville said frowning.

"I know," Harry said. "I didn't think you had. I noticed that when he was doing the creepy eyes thing to me and I pushed the feeling away that he got frustrated and stared harder. But I'm the only one he gets frustrated with so I figured it was just me."

"So what was it?"

"Well at first I thought maybe I was imagining it. But then when you got the potion right for the first time, once he got over his shock, there was the tickle again, only it was more like … a slap."

"A slap?"

"Yeah, it gave me a headache. There was no way I was imagining it. So if it was real, I wondered what he could be doing that affected my head. And I began wondering: what if he really was trying to read our minds?"

"What? Tell me you're joking," Neville begged, looking aghast at the thought.

"That's exactly how I felt. And that's why I started researching."

"Why didn't you tell me? I would have helped."

"Because I frustrated him. It was like whatever he did, it didn't work right on me. I think when I was pushing back the tickling, I was deflecting the attack. I must have a natural defence against it," Harry explained. "So when I decided to do some research, I didn't want to risk tipping him off. What if he found any books in the library and hid them or something?"

Neville nodded understandingly. "And if you told me, he could have read it from my mind, because I can't even notice he's doing it."

"Exactly."

"And you found the answer?"

Harry nodded and pushed over the book he'd brought. Neville carefully picked it up and opened it to the first page.

"' _A Guide to Occlumency and Legilimency_ '," he read. "What are they?"

"According to what I've read," he replied, "Legilimency is a skill that allows someone to extract emotions and memories from the mind of another. Advanced enough students don't need to say the incantation, but _direct eye contact is often essential_. So we have a teacher who, when he looks you dead in the eyes, it feels like he can read your mind. No way that's a coincidence," he asserted and Neville looked queasy at this confirmation of Harry's suspicions.

"What can we do?" he asked beginning to panic. "I _really_ don't like the thought of Snape messing about in my head. And going through my thoughts! What can I do Harry?"

"Calm down Nev," Harry said soothingly. "There's a solution. Occlumency is the counter to Legilimency. It's the art of magically defending the mind from intrusion or external influence. From what I've read, I think I must have natural Occlumency shields of some sort."

"But this book will explain it?" Neville asked, clutching it tightly as though it was a lifeline. "And then I'll be able to do it too?"

"I've read it all through and tried the exercises. They seem easy to me, but according to the text they should actually take time to learn. I think I can teach you."

The other boy began to look relieved and hopeful, but then suddenly became worried.

"But what if he sees in my head that we have the book and takes it?"

"Don't worry. I've read the whole thing and I'm pretty sure I've got the gist of it. In the meantime, avoid direct eye contact with him. Okay?"

"Okay," Neville nodded rapidly, and repeated, "Okay."

"Come on, put that down and we'll go and make that Throat-Soothing Potion."

"Harry!" he exclaimed. "How can you even think about that? Shouldn't we start this Occlumency stuff right away?"

He shook his head. "You're too stressed. Let's leave it be for a few hours, and take the time to do this potion. After all you still want to pass Snape's class right?"

Neville was forced to agree and reluctantly relinquished the mind arts text. As Harry spent the next half hour guiding his friend through his brewing, he considered the previous conversation.

He really hated having to lie to Neville, not only in regards to how he discovered Occlumency and Legilimency, but also about all those other little things that cropped up. It was after Neville's first Potions class success, looking at his happy friend and imagining how that happiness would fall away if he knew Harry was lying to him, that the ebony haired boy had decided he had to do something about it.

The problem was that Neville's mind was an open book to anyone who cared to look. As much as he might wish to, the other boy was thus incapable of keeping Harry's secrets. The solution he quickly came to was to teach Neville Occlumency. The only problem was how to introduce it in a way that would not set off suspicions to anyone who spied on Neville's memories.

Eventually he had constructed a plan. He had his excuses and only needed to 'find' the answer in the library. He'd expected that to be the easy part, but was quickly proved wrong. It had taken him a solid month and a half to find a book on Occlumency and Legilimency; he'd forgotten how rare an art it was. Still, found it he had, and he rather thought he'd acted his part perfectly. Hopefully Neville would avoid eye contact with any Legilimens in future, but if someone managed a peek, there was nothing there to give Harry away.

..ooOOoo..

**Saturday, 9 November, 1991**

"Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle," announcer Lee Jordan's voice rang out across the stadium. "A clear field ahead and off she goes – she's really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – the goal posts are ahead – come on, now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Immediately the Gryffindor section of the stand burst into cheers and whistles and the Slytherins moaned and booed. Sitting next to Neville, Harry's smile was wistful. Watching a Quidditch match was always good entertainment, but he'd rather be out there. He resolved to try out for Seeker next year. He leaned towards Neville to tell him just that, when a loud voice caught his attention.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!" he and Neville greeted, squeezing together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

Harry had renewed his acquaintance with Hagrid, going down to visit him firstly when he received invitation after the first week of classes, and after that of his own accord. Neville came along with him and whilst the other boy had been at first intimidated by the half-giant of a man, he'd quickly realised Hagrid was harmless so long as you avoided his rock cakes. The main difference between the visits this time around as compared to last time was that he didn't spend them pumping the man for information on the Philosopher's Stone. As far as anyone knew, he had no idea about what was being guarded at Hogwarts.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, "but it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Not yet," Harry said.

As the game continued, Gryffindor scored again but so did Slytherin. The green team also tallied up more than a few fouls, which the red team took full advantage of. Watching the action, Harry remembered when he'd played in this game. Quirrell had cursed his broomstick till Hermione intervened, then he'd ended the game by almost swallowing the snitch. He was glad at least that he didn't have to deal with Quirrell/Voldemort's attempt on his life again. That was a positive of not being on the team.

Fate of course, no doubt hearing his thoughts, immediately set itself against him. All of a sudden one of the Bludgers that Fred (or was it George) was lining up to bat stopped midair and changed course. Harry watched with curiosity, quickly turning to alarm, as the black iron ball seemed to head directly for him.

"Duck!" he shouted at the last minute, pulling Neville down with him.

The Bludger soared over his head, wind ruffling his hair at its passing, smashed through the back of the stands, and then turned around for a second go.

"Shit," he cursed.

It seemed Quirrell wasn't passing up the opportunity for attempted murder after all. He was just changing the method to rogue Bludger, reminiscent of Dobby in his second year.

What was he to do, he wondered, dodging the ball a second time only for it to turn around yet again. He could stop the ball with a well placed Reducto, but that option had the twofold problem of risking injuring the other students with shrapnel, as well as revealing that he was far too advanced for even a genius of a first year.

Others seemed to have realised something odd was happening; unsurprising since the balls were supposed to be charmed to stay on field. Students around him were fleeing the stands, the teachers on the other side of the field had all gotten to their feet, and the game seemed to have stopped mid play.

Seeing the seats nearby were mostly cleared, but for Neville and Hagrid who were stubbornly remaining by his side, he reluctantly reached for his wand. A quick Reducto, then an even quicker Protego to protect he and his two friends was his best bet. Oh, but this would be very suspicious.

Before he could do more than draw his wand however, Hagrid stepped in front of him, shielding he and Neville with his girth.

"Hagrid!" he shouted worriedly, not knowing what damage a Bludger could do to a half-giant. "What are you doing?

"Stay back!" the hairy man ordered.

Ignoring this, Harry eased around him. He had a moment to watch the Bludger pelt towards the man who grimly but simply raised an arm. Then with a great * _BANG_ *, the ball dented and fractured against Hagrid's fist, before dropping to the floor with a harmless * _clang_ *.

His gaping was soon joined by Neville's who – realising the danger was over – had ceased trying to pull him from harm's way and instead stepped around Hagrid with him.

"Wow," the blond said, and Harry nodded dumbly in agreement.

The moment was broken by a flood of teachers, thundering up the stairs and bursting onto the stand, Dumbledore in the lead radiating magic rather impressively. The old wizard relaxed however, to see the situation was resolved.

Hagrid's rather amazing defeat of the Bludger was explained by Harry and Neville, with such awe and appreciation that the big man was soon blushing a rosy red. Dumbledore twinkled at the scene until Poppy hurried forward, quickly diagnosing the large man with two broken fingers and a fractured wrist.

After Hagrid was hurried toward the hospital wing, the Quidditch game rescheduled, and everyone assured by Dumbledore that the matter of the Bludger would be investigated, the two boys headed back toward the castle. Harry intended to go check up on Hagrid right away. He also made a mental note to get his large friend a fantastic Christmas present this year as thanks.


	6. The Christmas Holidays

**Monday, 9 December, 1991**

"Those wishing to leave for the Christmas holidays must come forward and sign this list. Those who do not sign will be expected to remain at Hogwarts," McGonagall stated, standing at the front of the Gryffindor Common Room beside a conjured table.

Sitting together on a couch near the deputy headmistress, listening to the announcement, Harry and Neville found themselves near the front of the line as they jumped up and stepped forward. When they reached the table, Neville signed his name. Harry then reached to do the same, much to the surprise of his friend, as well as the teacher supervising.

"You're not staying?" Neville said in shock.

"I must confess myself surprised also Mr Potter," McGonagall added in an undertone. "From what Hagrid has said, I believed relations were … _strained_ , with your Muggle relatives."

"Oh, they are professor," Harry freely admitted, signing his name, "but I want to do some present shopping this Christmas, and since first years aren't allowed to leave the castle, I decided to go home instead."

"I see."

The boys then stepped aside for the next person to access the list.

"I don't know whether to be happy you're not stuck here alone for Christmas, or worried that you're going back to your relatives," Neville admitted.

"It'll be fine. I'll just avoid them as much as I can, and spend most of my time out in the park or something," Harry reassured him. "Now come on, let's go to our classroom and practice Occlumency some more."

..ooOOoo..

**Monday, 23 December, 1991**

The ride back to London on the Hogwarts Express was spent productively by the two boys. Neville worked on his mental shields whilst Harry, using Legilimency, tested their strength. Neville was really coming along well, showing surprising dedication for an eleven year old boy learning a difficult and time consuming skill. Harry credited this to the fact that Neville was completely repulsed at the idea of Snape messing about in his head.

Snape himself was another sign of Neville's progress. Though he mostly avoided the Potion Master's eyes where possible, the few times they made contact Snape showed an increasing frustration. The man clearly knew what they were doing, and was displeased with how well Neville's shields were coming along. Another six months to a year at most and his mind would be secure, and Harry could come clean.

As the Express pulled into King's Cross, the boys pulled down their trunks and stepped off the train.

"There's my Gran," Neville said, pointing to a stuffed vulture hat, visible above the crowd. "She'd like to meet you, if that's alright?"

"Sure," Harry said, and they made their way over to the woman.

"Gran," Neville greeted, "this is my friend, Harry Potter. Harry, this is my grandmother, Augusta Longbottom."

"Nice to meet you Mrs Longbottom."

The elderly woman inspected him from head to toe, before sniffing. Neville shifted from foot to foot, and Harry got the impression that she was withholding judgement upon him for the moment. Personally he blamed the baggy hand-me-downs he was wearing. They didn't make the best impression. He resolved to do some clothes shopping these holidays.

"And you Mr Potter," she finally responded. "Neville says good things about you." Then she looked to her grandson. "Say goodbye to your friend Neville, we must be going. We have guests in an hour."

"Yes Gran. I'll see you after the holidays Harry. Don't let your relatives get you down."

"You too," Harry said.

He was being purposefully vague as to whether he referred to the 'see you after the holidays' or the 'don't let your relatives get you down'. From the way Neville blinked and shot a quick look at his grandmother before nodding, he thought the other boy caught his meaning.

"And don't forget to study," he added, referring secretly to Occlumency.

"I will," Neville said. "Bye"

"Bye."

And then they were gone, leaving Harry alone amongst the crowd. Turning towards the barrier entrance he pushed through the throng, finally exiting platform nine and three quarters to emerge in the Muggle section of Kings Cross. Making his way out onto the road, he discretely raised his wand to summon the Knight Bus, secure in his knowledge that the Muggle Repelling spells would prevent its detection, even in this crowded place.

The bus soon appeared and Harry boarded, gave his destination, "Diagon Alley, please," paid, and took a seat. A bumpy five minutes later, the vehicle came to a stop at Charing Cross Road and Harry hopped out. The bus then careened off without him with a loud *BANG*.

Donning his winter cloak, Harry raised his hood and entered the hidden pub, the Leaky Cauldron. To his relief, the cloak managed to hide his identity long enough for him to escape into the little courtyard behind the pub. Knowing he likely had little time before someone passed through, he raised his wand and cast a Glamour Charm to disguise himself.

A topic Harry had given great thought to over the past few weeks was underage magic detection. The Trace, a charm to monitor magic done by young witches and wizards, was placed on first year Hogwarts students as they waited in the antechamber to the Great Hall, prior to sorting. The charms were laid so discretely that the children did not even know they were being cast.

Technically, the Trace wasn't removed till a witch or wizard reached the magical age of majority at seventeen, at which time it broke of its own accord. Harry's theory was that since his mind and magic were retained from his future self prior to the shift, the Trace never took hold of him back on September first. After all, if the charm relied merely on the body's physical age, it could easily be broken with a temporary aging potion.

Of course on the chance that his theory was incorrect, he was safe at the moment because he was in a magical area. It was not possible for the Trace to differentiate between magic cast by him and that cast by other magic folk who were nearby, so it did not record or report when he was in such areas. In addition to Diagon Alley, this also included such locations as Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, the Ministry, St Mungo's, Platform 9¾, and registered magical residences.

Knowing he'd best hurry along before someone appeared and wondered why he was loitering about in the courtyard, Harry – disguised now with blonde hair and brown eyes – tapped out the pattern on the brick wall. The bricks shifted and rearranged, presenting the entrance to Diagon Alley.

He stepped out into street, letting himself be swept along by the crowd of witches and wizards out doing Christmas shopping. As he approached a little side alley, he stepped out of the crowd and slipped into the space between two stores. Immediately he cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm at the alley entrance.

Assured now that he would not be disturbed, he prepared to test out his theory. Withdrawing his wand he cast a spell upon himself. It was an advanced one, which was used to detect spells anchored to a living being. It returned its results and Harry's feelings were an odd mixture of satisfied and exasperated. Satisfied because, as he had expected, the Trace had no hold on him. Exasperated because of the fact that he was host to a tracking charm.

He wasn't surprised at the discovery. No doubt it was Dumbledore's doing. The man had a tendency to worry about him when he left the 'safety' of Hogwarts. Though he had no intention of remaining there all holiday, he would drop by Privet Drive soon and transfer the spell to Dudley. Then, before returning to school, he would drop by again and transfer it back. It was already heading towards evening. So long as he spent no more than an hour here before heading to Little Whinging, Dumbledore shouldn't be suspicious. He'd just think Harry was doing some Christmas shopping.

Reassured now that he had a plan, he dispelled the Notice-Me-Not Charm and slipped back into the crowds. As it was getting late, he would only make one stop. The rest of his shopping needs could wait till tomorrow.

Stepping into Madame Malkin's two minutes later, he was immediately greeted by the cheerful witch for whom the store was named. She was more than happy to hear that he needed a whole wizard's wardrobe. She was also quite willing to assist him in the picking and choosing, which was fortunate since fashion was decidedly not one of his areas of expertise.

Telling Malkin he would be back tomorrow to pick up his order, Harry retraced his earlier route, until he exited the Leaky Cauldron into the Muggle world. He took the Knight Bus to Privet Drive and, under the shield of a Disillusionment Charm, sneaked into the house and transferred his tracking charm to Dudley. That done, he Apparated to a Muggle hotel he knew of, Confunded the receptionist into letting him pay for a room for the rest of the holidays, despite his obvious youth, and bedded down for the night.

..ooOOoo..

**Tuesday, 24 December, 1991**

The next day Harry Glamoured his appearance once more and ventured again to Diagon Alley. It being the day before Christmas, the street was packed with last minute shoppers, and so he had to push through the crowd. He made his way down the alley, browsing at various stores until he'd found a suitable Christmas gift for his best friend.

Present shopping completed (Hagrid's present had been pre-arranged some time ago) he had only three more stops to go. Ducking into that same side street that he'd used the previous day, he changed his Glamour. No longer did he appear as a child, but rather as a fierce looking, if short, older man.

Raising the hood of his cloak he slipped once more into the crowd and allowed it to carry him to the entrance to Knockturn Alley, where he split off and down the darkened street. Twenty minutes later he emerged from Knockturn, a flagon of a certain illegal potion he was in need of tucked away in his pocket.

He headed then toward the owl office. There he hired an owl to send off a letter that he had carefully penned earlier that morning at his hotel. Once the plain looking barn owl had winged away, he exited the store.

For the third time in two days, the little side alley was used to swap Glamours, this time back to the brown eyed blonde boy. Then he made his way to the last stop of the day: Madame Malkin's, to retrieve his order from yesterday. Once that was done, he left Diagon Alley in favour of spending the day exploring the Muggle world.


	7. Unmasking a Rat

**Wednesday, 25 December, 1991**

Harry stood on the sidewalk of a street lined with several rather shabby-looking offices, a pub and an overflowing skip. He took a swallow from the flagon in his backpack, grimacing at the taste. Polyjuice potion had to be one of the foulest potions known to wizard-kind. It was awfully useful though, hence his trip down Knockturn to find some the day previous.

Reassured that his current appearance – that of a random blue eyed, brown haired Muggle man – would hold for at least another hour, he strode over toward the old damaged red telephone box on the other side of the road. Picking up the phone he dialled 6-2-4-4-2.

As the dial whirred smoothly back into place, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box, not from the receiver in Harry's hand, but as loudly and plainly as though an invisible woman were standing right beside him.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Concerned citizen to see Madame Bones. I have an appointment."

..ooOOoo..

Amelia Bones sat in her office, glaring occasionally at the clock on her wall. It was Christmas day and rather than spending the morning with her brother and his wife, watching her niece Susan open her presents, she was stuck at work. She sighed then, knowing the decision to be at work right now was her own, and recalled the reasons for that.

Just yesterday she had received an anonymous owl. The contents of the letter had shocked her immensely and she'd been initially sceptical. After all, what were the chances that Sirius Black, who even now resided in Azkaban, had been innocent all along? She immediately began making discrete inquiries. When she discovered that it was true the man had never had a trial she'd decided to give the anonymous writer a chance to prove his claims and owled back, agreeing to his requested meeting at her office on the morning of the twenty-fifth.

And so here she was, waiting for her guest to appear. She did not have to wait long however, as after only a few minutes her secretary suddenly buzzed her intercom.

"Yes Michael?"

"There is a wizard here to see you Madame. He has provided no name but insists that he has an appointment with you."

"He's expected. Send him in please."

The figure who entered the room was a tall, plain featured man with blue eyes and brown hair, wearing some sort of Muggle bag-like contraption on his back. As he stepped across the threshold a beam of light scanned his form. Whoever her guest was, he obviously expected the security protocol as he barely batted an eyelash. She glanced down at the display slate inlaid on her desk. It reported that the man was under some form of appearance alteration. Since the scan had not stripped it however, it was likely potion induced, rather than a spell. She wondered how to feel about the fact that he had come in disguise.

"I apologise for not wearing my own face Madame Bones," he said, as if in response to her thoughts, "but given the possible fallout of what I hope to reveal, I wanted to remain anonymous."

"Very well," she nodded slowly, deciding to allow it and gestured toward the seats in front of her desk. "Please take a seat."

She adjusted her monocle to stare piercingly at the man as he set his bag at his feet and sat down.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

"Sir, if what you claim has even the barest hint of truth, then it is my duty as head of the DMLE to look into it with all seriousness."

"Of course."

"Now, according to your letter you claim that Sirius Black is innocent of all charges, that he never received trial, and that the true criminal is Peter Pettigrew of all people, who framed Black and faked his own death." She shook her head. "A very convoluted series of events. I looked into records and confirmed Black's lack of trial however, so I know that much is true. You claim you have proof of the rest?"

"I do."

Then the man reached into the bag at his feet, opening it and drawing out a small cage containing a rat of all things. She curled her lip at the sight, being not at all a fan of rodents, and looked at the man askance.

"This is your proof?" Amelia asked sternly, but he only nodded.

"This Madame is not just a rat, but also an Animagus."

"I do not recall a rat shape-shifter on the registered list of Animagi."

"That's because he's unregistered. This is Peter Pettigrew," he claimed calmly.

In the cage, the rat was looking quite disturbed at events, running about and squeaking frantically. Whether this was because he truly was a man who knew he was about to be unmasked, or simply because he was an unhappy rat, was yet to be proven. Amelia drew her wand.

"Please place the cage on the ground and step away," she said and the man promptly obeyed.

"The cage has an Unbreakable Charm," he warned.

"Then I'll have to stun the animal and then have you open the cage. _Stupefy_ ," she cast, the red light sending the rat into unconsciousness. "Can you please remove the animal from the cage?" she requested and he did so, tipping it onto the ground. "Please stand back while I cast the next spell. _Animagus Reverto_."

She gasped, tightening her grip on her wand. The moment the spell connected the rat began to shift and morph until finally, lying unconscious on the floor of her office was the body of none other than …

"Peter Pettigrew," she breathed in shock, before regaining her composed air. "There is still the Veritaserum questioning to be done of course, but if your information continues to be correct … well, Sirius Black will be receiving an unexpected gift this Christmas: freedom."

..ooOOoo..

As Harry left Amelia Bones office some time later, he metaphorically crossed his fingers, hoping desperately that he had done the right thing. He had contemplated for quite some time, after capturing the rat, whether turning him in was the correct action. Eventually though, he had decided to go ahead with it.

His conundrum had stemmed from the fact that in the original timeline Peter had been integral to the re-bodying of Voldemort. On the one hand, that act had allowed the dark wizard to rein terror once more. On the other however, Voldemort's gaining of a physical form had granted his opponents a crucial advantage: he was far easier to defeat with a corporeal body than he had been as a wraith.

However, withholding the knowledge of Pettigrew's betrayal, and releasing him to eventually search out his master, would also have grave consequences. For too long Sirius had wasted in Azkaban, innocent and yet suffering for crimes he did not commit. Harry knew that in his place Dumbledore may well have let events rerun their course, and could even understand in theory why it should be so. Personally however, he couldn't justify to himself allowing his godfather to suffer for another year or two when he had the power to save him.

And so, in the end, he had decided to give Pettigrew up to the authorities. He chose Madame Bones rather than Dumbledore. This was not because he believed the headmaster would do nothing. Dumbledore wasn't a bad man after all; he would definitely take action to right the wrong. The reason that he did not invoke Dumbledore's aid in freeing Sirius was actually quite simple: curiosity.

The headmaster would not have simply let him keep his identity a secret, as Madam Bones had. Instead he would have attempted to question, demand and possibly coerce the truth from him. Harry couldn't really blame the older wizard for this. It would be hypocritical given that he himself was sometimes insatiably curious, and Merlin knew that curiosity had gotten him into enough trouble over the years. And with the truth, there was the aforementioned risk of Dumbledore deciding it was safer to keep with the previous timeline. Hence his going instead to Madam Bones.

Apparating back to his hotel, Harry continued to hope he had done the right thing. And at the same time, he knew that he couldn't have done anything else.

..ooOOoo..

Whilst Aurors were sent to transfer Sirius Black from his high security Dementor haunted jail to the comparatively luxurious Ministry holding cells to await his long denied trial, across the country others were having a less eventful Christmas.

Neville Longbottom this day paid his traditional visit to his incapacitated parents at St Mungo's. There he happily informed his mother about his blossoming friendship with Harry Potter and his progress in school, which he credited to his friend. He told her about the packet of Liquorice Wands and the fascinating book ' _101 Interesting Plants_ ' that Harry had sent him, confessing quietly that he much preferred them to the stuffy sweaters and socks his Gran had gifted him this Yule season.

Hagrid, upon opening the beribboned envelope addressed to him in Harry's handwriting, promptly went wide-eyed and burst into tears of joy. When the teachers questioned his reactions – for he had received the envelope at breakfast in the Great Hall – he proudly showed off the gift his young friend had sent. The half-giant couldn't wait to make use of the tickets to visit the Romanian dragon reserve complete with a behind the scenes in-depth tour.

Harry meanwhile spent the day alone. Despite this he was more than content. For one, whilst not with friends, he was at least not subjected to the Dursleys. Also he was basking in the knowledge that thanks to his actions, Sirius would soon be free. And so he was quite happy as he received his small pile of gifts (a wooden flute from Hagrid, the invisibility cloak anonymously from Dumbledore, fifty pence from his aunt and uncle, and a box of Chocolate Frogs along with ' _Quidditch Through the Ages_ ' from Neville). It was a good Christmas.


	8. Occlumency and News

**Sunday, 5 January, 1992**

"Neville!" Harry greeted his friend cheerfully, heaving his trunk onto the train.

"Harry. I'm glad you found me," Neville said, getting up to help with the luggage. "I wasn't sure whether to wait for you on the platform or save us a compartment."

"Well I'm glad you went with the compartment idea. The train's filling up fast. Hopefully we'll get it to ourselves."

Together they managed to get the trunk stowed away overhead, then closed the door and sat down.

"So, how were your holidays?"

"Good. Thanks for the Christmas gifts."

"You already thanked me Nev. Speaking of, that was a fancy letter just for some Liquorice Wands and a book," he said teasingly.

Neville blushed. "Gran says it's the proper thing to do, sending out thank you letters on luxury parchment. I do it every year. Besides," he said, gaining confidence, "it was worth two thank yous because I really did love the book. Some of the plants it talks about are really fascinating."

"No problem, glad you liked it. And thanks for the gift you sent me too. I've wanted a copy ever since I read the one from the library."

Neville smiled as Harry reflected that his comment was technically true. He _had_ wanted a copy of ' _Quidditch Through the Ages_ ' ever since reading the library copy. The only thing was, he'd actually first borrowed the book from Hermione, who had been the one to loan it from the library, and he'd been reading it to help prepare himself for his first Quidditch game in the original timeline. Thinking of this reminded him of the fact that sadly, it was still necessary to keep so much from his friend. Even seemingly inconsequential information like when he first read a book. He couldn't wait till that was no longer so. Speaking of …

"So how's your Occlumency practice been going?" he asked and Neville sagged.

"Not too good. I still can't clear my mind in an instant like I need to."

"Neville, it's going to take a long time to master it," he reassured. "Have you been making progress though?"

"Well, I can do it quicker now than I used to. It only takes me about ten minutes to clear my mind, and on Boxing Day I managed to stay that way for five minutes."

"Really?" Harry's eyebrows rose, impressed. "That's great Neville – a huge improvement on before the holidays. It used to take you a good twenty minutes and you could only stay blank for two minutes at most."

The blond smiled shyly, looking more confident and positive now that his friend had praised his progress.

"Can we test my shields?" he asked.

"Sure," Harry nodded, drawing his wand. "What emotion do you want me to target?"

"Happiness?"

"Okay, get ready." He pointed his wand at the other boy. " _Legilimens_."

Focussing on drawing forth memories associated with happiness, Harry was easily able to enter Neville's mind. The blond's task in this exercise was to focus on clearing his mind as soon as he detected the invasion. Eventually, with practice, this action would become automatic and instinctual, blocking probes as they were felt.

As Neville struggled toward tranquillity, images flickered through his mind, Harry watching them play out. First meeting Harry on the train, where the green-eyed boy declared he hoped they'd be friends; dinner at the Longbottom home, with Neville's Gran bragging to his Uncle Algie about how well he was doing at school; Christmas morning, opening a gift to find ' _101 Interesting Plants_ ' from Harry, his first present from a friend.

More and more memories were brought to the fore, and Harry noted that he seemed to appear in a lot of them. Then bit by bit the rate of images slowed, beginning to flicker out. At first they did so for but an instant, but gradually the flickering extended for longer and longer lengths of time. When Neville managed to keep his mind clear for five whole seconds, Harry finally released the spell, grinning widely.

"Brilliant Neville, you're getting a lot better. It only took you about thirty seconds to start blocking me and two minutes trying before you held up for a five second stretch."

The blond slumped in his seat, breathing heavy and showing the strain of his efforts, but there was a pleased grin on his face.

Just then the train gave a lurch as it began to pull away from the station. They stared out the window as the crowd disappeared into the distance, before turning back to one another.

"Again?" Neville requested.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked and received a firm nod.

As he raised his wand to cast again, Harry reflected that Neville's fears when they first met in this timeline – that he would probably end up a Hufflepuff – were not entirely unfounded. This was not for the reason he feared however: that he wasn't good enough for the other houses. Rather it was because when Neville really decided to try for something, he put his all into it without reserve. He certainly didn't shy from hard work in the least.

..ooOOoo..

**Tuesday, 21 January, 1992**

It had been almost a month (twenty-seven days to be exact) since Harry had relinquished Pettigrew to Amelia Bones, explaining to her that Sirius was falsely imprisoned and the rat was the real criminal. Ever since then, he had been waiting nervously for news that Sirius had been freed and pardoned.

He knew of course that these things took time. Nevertheless, as the days continued to pass with no word, he grew worried. What if something went wrong? What if Pettigrew managed to escape custody? What if they still refused to see his godfather's innocence?

As the morning post arrived and he unrolled his received copy of the Daily Prophet, he realised his waiting had come to an end. Quickly a tide of whispers spread across the hall, and those without newspapers were seen peeking over the shoulders of those who did.

"Harry?" Neville asked from his side. "What's everyone finding so interesting about the Prophet?"

Wordlessly Harry turned toward the other boy, settling the paper on the table between them so that they could both read at once. There at the top of the page, in bold blinking letters, was the headline:

> _**Azkaban Inmate Sirius Black Innocent After All** _
> 
> _In an exclusive press conference yesterday evening, Madam Amelia Bones (Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement) revealed the shocking news that Sirius Orion Black, formally incarcerated for crimes including the betrayal of the Potters to You-Know-Who, is in fact innocent on all counts._
> 
> _Explains Madam Bones, "The department was contacted by an anonymous informant, who brought to our attention the continued existence of Peter Pettigrew, along with claims of Black's innocence."_
> 
> _For those not aware, in additional to the betrayal of the Potters, Black was also accused of the murder of Pettigrew and twelve Muggles. The survival of Pettigrew, and the proof that the man has been in hiding for over a decade, immediately cast doubt on Black's guilt. Madame Bones swiftly opened an investigation into the claims, heading the operation herself._
> 
> _"Both Black and Pettigrew confessed to matching accounts whilst under the influence of Veritaserum," she tells, "but it was not the events commonly believed to be true. In actuality, Pettigrew was the true Secret Keeper of the Potters. Black was to play decoy, drawing attention away from Pettigrew. Unfortunately, Pettigrew was a marked Death Eater, and gave You-Know-Who the Potters' location._
> 
> _"It was also Pettigrew who created the explosion that killed the twelve Muggles. He did this in an effort to stage his own death, after shouting falsely to the crowd that Black had betrayed James and Lily, in order to frame Black for his own crimes."_
> 
> _Pettigrew has been tried and officially found guilty of all charges. He has been sentenced to life in Azkaban, the decision to be reviewed in twenty years, at which time a decision will be made whether to continue the life sentence, or administer him the Kiss._
> 
> _Sirius Black is convalescing from his traumatic time in Azkaban and so was unavailable for comment. He is expected however to seek compensation for his wrongful imprisonment. The Wizengamot is already in talks to discuss the institution of methods to prevent such a travesty of justice from ever occurring again._

"Wow," Neville breathed from beside him, then turned concerned eyes to his companion. "Harry, are you okay?"

At first he was confused at the question. Then he noticed more than a few eyes glancing in his direction and it clicked. The article spoke about the betrayal of the Potters. Looking at his friend, who was staring at him compassionately, he decided to be as honest as possible.

"Yeah. Yeah I think so," he said quietly, so no one else could overhear. "I'd heard about Sirius Black of course. Finding out that this Peter Pettigrew was the real reason – apart from You-Know-Who – that my parents are dead … I glad," he said fiercely, and at the confused expression clarified. "I'm glad that he's been discovered finally, and that he's going to pay for what he did. But I'm also sad and angry that Sirius has been paying for Pettigrew's crimes. I've read about Azkaban." And he shivered, not unfeigned. "It's supposed to be horrible."

"The most horrible place on Earth," Neville agreed, looking pale at the thought that an innocent man had been there.


	9. Decision Making

**Tuesday, 28 January, 1992**

When the news about Sirius Black broke it was the most talked about topic both in school and the wizarding world at large. The news that an innocent had been sent to Azkaban had stirred up thoughts of 'what if that had been me' or 'could that happen to someone I love' in most people's minds. So, understandably, most were horrified at what had happened.

A week later, the furore had begun to die down a little. That quickly changed however, when none other than Amelia Bones herself, along with three very official looking individuals, had appeared at the doors of the Great Hall during breakfast.

The group headed immediately for the head table where Amelia Bones had a whispered conversation with Dumbledore and both glanced in the direction of the Gryffindors. They nodded and the four exited to the chamber adjoining the Great Hall. Dumbledore then murmured something to McGonagall before standing to follow Bones' group whilst the deputy headmistress descended to the Gryffindor table, coming to a stop behind Harry.

"Mr Potter," she said quietly, but in the sudden silence of the room her voice carried to all present, "if you've finished your breakfast, could you please follow me? You'll be excused for any class time you miss."

Harry nodded amidst the sea of whispers, asked Neville to take notes for him in Herbology, and rose to his feet. He followed McGonagall past the head table and exited the hall through the same door that the others had previously taken

"Ah Harry," Dumbledore greeted as the door closed behind the boy, "please take a seat."

He obeyed, sitting down in the seat indicated, noting as he did the positions of everyone in the room. Dumbledore and Bones were seated opposite him, whilst the three strangers stood off to the side, and McGonagall stood beside his own seat.

"What's this about sir?" he asked.

"Introductions first I think my boy. This is Madam Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Nice to meet you Madam."

"And you as well Mr Potter," Bones greeted, not realising she was in the presence of her mysterious informant.

"And these three," Dumbledore added, gesturing toward a curly-haired witch, "are Lana Ward, head of the DMCF-"

"DMCF?" Harry asked.

"The Department of Magical Children and Families," he explained and Harry nodded. "And the other two are Healer Gavin Bennington," he indicated a grey haired wizard with round pince-nez spectacles, "and Law-Wizard Alfred Parker," a handsome wizard with piercing, dark blue eyes.

"Hello," he said, nodding at the three who gave greetings in return.

"Now as to what this is about … Madame Bones if you will?"

"Of course. Have you kept abreast of the news recently Mr Potter? Specifically, the release of Sirius Black."

He nodded. "I've read the Prophet. I know that he was innocent."

"Well Mr Potter, in compensation negotiations, Mr Black made a certain request …" She looked toward Law-Wizard Parker. "Alfred?"

"You see Mr Potter," the man said, staring at him intently, "when you were born, your parents named Mr Black your godfather. It was their wish that should something happen to them, you were to be raised by him. Now obviously due to circumstances, that didn't happen. But now that he's free, Mr Black wishes to respect James and Lily Potter's final wishes and take custody of you. As his official Law-Wizard, I'm here to see that done."

Harry blinked, struggling to look surprised as he glanced around the room. Most of the adults seemed to be staring at him expectantly, awaiting his reaction. He noted however that Dumbledore looked faintly worried, though the emotion was well hidden. Likely the man was thinking of the blood wards, and what would happen to Harry's protection if he ceased living with the Dursleys. The only other strange reaction was with Healer Bennington. He seemed to be struggling to remain silent. Sure enough, after a moment he burst out loud.

"I really must object, Madam Bones! As I've told you, Azkaban was not kind to Mr Black. He has been damaged physically, mentally and magically. He needs time to recover, and the responsibility of raising a child would be an unneeded stress."

"Your own report specifically stated that my client has show remarkable resiliency to the mental effects of Dementors," Parker countered. "All Mr Black wants is to be able to take care of his godson, as is his legal right."

"And I'm telling you," Bennington said stridently, "that I don't think he's up to such stress. No matter how impressive his condition is under the circumstances. Mr Black is receiving medical treatment as we speak, but has been so focussed on his godson that he's refused to make time for vital mind-healing."

"Perhaps rather than continue your bickering gentlewizards," Lana Ward interjected archly, "we should ask Mr Potter his opinion. This affects him the most after all."

As all eyes turned to him, Harry bit his lip nervously. This was actually something he'd considered, since turning in Pettigrew. On the one hand finally living with Sirius would be like a dream come true. It was something he'd wanted desperately the first time around, but had been made impossible when he'd lost his godfather so cruelly. On the other hand there were things he needed the freedom to do; places he needed to be able to travel to without restraint. He wasn't sure how Sirius would feel about that. He thought if he explained it all the man would understand, but really, he couldn't afford the risk that he didn't. Added to that, hearing Healer Bennington talk, he really felt it would be best for Sirius to seek the help that was being offered. And so, gathering his thoughts, he made a decision.

"I think," he said, at first hesitant but gaining strength as he explained his idea, "that Azkaban was a horrible place, and there's no way Mr Black could have made it through unscathed – physically, mentally, magically, as the healer said. But he's my godfather, and I want to live with him. I really, really do. So the best compromise I can think of is this: someone convinces him to have that mind-healing. He starts on that right away, and come summer holidays, I'll have day visits with him. At Christmas I'll spend a couple of full days with him, maybe from Christmas Eve through Boxing Day. And hopefully, by the time the next summer holidays come around, he'll be healed enough to look after me full time."

He looked around at the adults present, gauging their reactions. Dumbledore looked less worried, no doubt at knowing Harry didn't plan to leave his relatives permanently just yet. McGonagall was staring at him proudly, likely due to his mature, thought out decision. Healer Bennington looked reluctantly approving of the idea. Bones was nodding but casting glances at Parker, and he got the feeling she was just waiting for him to object. He looked at the last man himself, wondering if he would. But all he did was nod and say, "Okay."

"Okay?" Bones asked, adjusting her monocle in surprise. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," he said easily.

"But I know you Alfred. You're like a dog with a bone when it comes to your job. You don't just give up."

"My client made clear that his godson's wishes were of the utmost importance in this matter. And since Mr Potter seems set in his decision, it is my job to support it."

"Well," Dumbledore said, breaking the silence that followed, "that is wonderful news. Are we all in agreement then?"

"Lara?" Bones asked. "DMCF will support the placement?"

"Under these conditions," the woman said, "yes, I believe we will."

"Then it'll be done."


	10. Problems Solved

**Wednesday, 12 February** **, 1992**

Stepping out of another class with Quirrell, recipient of yet another headache emanating from his scar, Harry wondered to himself how he could have been so stupid last time, and not have put things together. Sure, Snape was an understandable suspect, all antagonism and darkness, but Quirrell had scar-headache inducing abilities.

He sighed, supposing he wasn't entirely blamed. After all, back at this early stage he hadn't been aware that his scar was an active link to Voldemort. And being Muggle raised, he had not the basic understanding of magic to make the leap to the hypothesis. He was a bit surprised in reflection however, that Hermione – genius that she was – had never suggested the possibility.

Raising a hand, he rubbed it across his forehead to ease the slowly fading pain.

"Harry? You alright?" Neville asked, sounding concerned, and he gave his friend a reassuring smile.

"M'fine, just a headache. It's getting better now though."

"Another? You seem to get them a lot Harry, especially in D.A.D.A. class. Maybe it's because of the smell from all the garlic Quirrell keeps around."

Harry quirked a lip, remembering having come to a similar conclusion himself last time.

"Or maybe I'm allergic to the teacher. Think McGonagall will let me drop out?"

"No way," Neville laughed, not realising Harry's comments were at least partly serious. "Look, why don't you go up to the dorms and lie down? I'll sneak some lunch up to you from the tables."

Harry gave a grateful smile and nodded, parting ways for the Common Room.

..ooOOoo..

**Friday, 21 February, 1992**

"Professor McGonagall? You sent a message asking to meet with us?" Harry asked.

It was Friday afternoon after classes and he and Neville were stood before the desk in their Head of House's office.

"Take a seat gentlemen," she directed, then offered them an opened tartan tin saying, "Have a Ginger Newt." Both complied. "Now, as to why I called this meeting, Headmaster Dumbledore has asked that I update you on the progress of the investigation."

"Investigation?" the green eyed boy asked, but Neville, not as dismissive of near death situations as his friend, quickly realised what she meant.

"Into the rogue Bludger, Professor McGonagall?" he asked nervously.

She nodded. "Exactly. What with the next Gryffindor Quidditch match tomorrow, he felt you ought to know about the new measures in place, so that you'll feel safe to attend should you wish."

"What measures Professor?" Harry asked.

"Firstly, the Headmaster himself with be present at the matches until the cause is discovered-"

"Wait, wasn't he there last time?"

As soon as he said it, Harry recalled that in the first timeline, Dumbledore hadn't been there for his debut match. That was why he was so relieved to see him in attendance of the second one, knowing he'd keep an eye on Snape, who they believed to be the culprit at the time. He wondered at the change before McGonagall, after glaring at him a little for interrupting, explained.

"No, he was not. But he happened to be taking a stroll on the lawn when the commotion occurred. I sent him a message as to what was happening as the teachers and I made our way to your stand, and Headmaster Dumbledore hurried to join us along the way," she said and both boys nodded in understanding.

"Y-you said there were other measures, Professor?" Neville asked.

"Yes Mr Longbottom, I did. The warding spells keeping balls within the field will be inspected by the headmaster before every game. And the balls themselves will be checked over by Madam Hooch and at least two heads of house. No exceptions. Also, a new ward has been added between the stands and pitch that prevents underage witches and wizards from casting spells across the barrier without rather obvious consequences, which would pinpoint their identity."

"You think it's a student?" Neville blurted loudly in surprise. "Sorry Professor. It's just I thought only advanced wizards could interfere with the charms on Quidditch balls. Or that's what the gossip says."

"I think," Harry said, "that it's more likely a 'just in case' measure. Probably the main point of that ward is that if something happens, and it doesn't point out who cast the spell, then they'll know it had to be someone of age. It would narrow things down a lot, and probably discourage the culprit."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow but nodded.

"Indeed, Mr Potter," she said. "Indeed."

..ooOOoo..

**Friday, 24 April, 1992**

Harry and Neville were just packing up after another successful potions tutoring session. Neville was getting to be rather decent at the subject, though it would never be his best.

As they left the room Harry frowned. Something had been bothering him recently, tickling at the back of his mind. There was something he was forgetting. Walking down the corridor, he happened to glance out the window, and at the sight of Hagrid's hut, everything clicked into place.

 _Norbert_! How could he have forgotten about Hagrid's ill-advised venture into the world of dragon breeding?

"You know," he said, casually as he could, "we haven't been to see Hagrid in ages it seems."

"You're right," Neville said, frowning. "We've not been very good friends, have we? And after he saved us from that mad Bludger and all."

"Why don't we head down now?"

Neville was quick to agree and they exited the castle, heading across the grounds. As they went Harry braced himself. He wasn't sure what stage Norbert would be in. He could be an egg still, or he could be an ill-behaved, poison-fanged mini-menace.

They knocked onto the door.

"I'm busy! Come back later!" Hagrid's voice called from within.

"Hagrid, it's me and Neville!" Harry called back.

There was a long pause, but finally the door opened ajar and Hagrid's face appeared, looking furtive.

"Well get in here, quick. You won't believe what I've got ter show yeh."

Both were hustled into the overly warm interior of the hut with such force that Harry fell over. By the time he scrambled back to his feet, Hagrid had taken a seat at the table, staring down at it with expectant awe. Neville on the other hand was looking in the same direction, but his expression was somewhere between horror and disbelief.

"What's that Hagrid?" Harry asked, indicating the huge black egg.

"I-is that w-what I think it is Hagrid?" Neville asked, frightened.

Hagrid just grinned proudly.

"It's a dragon egg. Norwegian Ridgeback in fact. They're rare them. And it's good timin' you lot came ter visit me now," Hagrid said throwing them an excited look. "It's _hatchin_ '."

Neville just gulped, backing away. Harry meanwhile stared, wondering what to do. One thing he couldn't deny was that seeing a dragon hatching was an experience of a lifetime – doubly so for the dragon fanatic Hagrid – and he didn't want to ruin the experience for his big friend. And so he said nothing for now, dragging Neville forward to watch.

They all three crowded around the table. The egg was shaking in place, like something was moving inside, and made a strange clicking noise. There were fracture lines across the shell where its inhabitant had started trying to get out. As they watched breathlessly, there was a scraping noise and finally, the shell split apart and a baby dragon flopped out onto the table.

"Wow," Neville whispered.

"He's beautiful," Hagrid murmured reverently.

At the breaking of the silence, the creature looked around and sneezed, sending out sparks that almost set Hagrid's beard alight before he patted them out. Harry knew it was time to intervene.

"Hagrid, Norwegian Ridgebacks, they breathe fire right?" he asked, but Hagrid was busy cooing at the dragon, so he repeated it louder.

"Oh sure," the half-giant nodded. "But little Norbert here's just a baby. Won't make more'n sparks till he's two months."

" _Norbert_?" Neville gaped.

"Still," Harry continued, "it's enough to make things catch fire. And you live in a wooden house. And I've heard they grown like weeds. And aren't Norwegian Ridgebacks venomous?"

Hagrid was paying him no attention, but doing so a bit too intently for it to be anything but intentional.

"Hagrid," Neville said softly, "Harry's right."

Finally the man looked up.

"But I just got him. I've wanted a dragon fer ages. I'm not gettin' rid o' him; he's too young ter survive on his own."

"And what if he somehow gets away from you Hagrid," Harry said gently, "and injures a student?"

"Norbert would never! He's just a sweet baby."

"A sweet baby with poisonous fangs," Neville added sotto voce.

Harry frowned. He didn't want to hurt his friend but it seemed he'd have to play dirty. He had no ties to Ron in this timeline, so he couldn't very well contact Charlie and sneak Norbert out. Instead Hagrid would have to come clean with Dumbledore and hope the old wizard could help.

"You said it Hagrid, he's a baby, and babies make mistakes," Harry said, then firmed his tone. "I think you're being very selfish."

The other two looked at him in shock, Hagrid also looking confused.

"What d'yeh mean, selfish?"

"I know you've always wanted a pet dragon, but that you'd be willing to risk the wellbeing of students, of _children_ , to get what you want …"

There was no mistaking the hurt in Hagrid's face and it made Harry wince a bit. And then Neville, compassionate boy that he was, made to intervene.

"Harry," the blonde boy said, "I'm sure Hagrid doesn't mean for anyone to get hurt. I-I mean he's our friend and a good person. B-but Hagrid, Harry has a point. The dragon – I mean Norbert – could be dangerous."

"I'm sorry Hagrid," Harry apologised. "I don't mean to accuse you. I'm just worried."

Hagrid stared for a moment between his visitors and the dragon. The creature went to take a bite out of his finger. He dodged it easily, but all the same the action helped support Harry's words and he slumped down defeated.

"Yer right," he said sadly, staring at Norbert with teary eyes and sniffling a bit. "I have ter get rid o' him. But I don't want ter abandon him ter die."

"So we go to Dumbledore," Harry said but Hagrid hesitated.

"He'll be disappointed in me," the half-giant muttered before sitting up straighter. "But, it's the right thing ter do."

Harry and Neville agreed to go find Dumbledore and bring him down. Hagrid wanted some time alone with his 'baby' before he had to give it away. Neville didn't question Harry knowing where the headmaster's office was. He had long ago come to the conclusion that Harry must do a lot of exploring of the castle when they were apart.

Dumbledore agreed to follow them down to Hagrid's where he was brought in on the situation. He was rather surprised to find his gamekeeper had hatched a dragon, and yes, somewhat disappointed too. He sent the two boys on their way, promising that everything would be taken care of, and the dragon found a good home.


	11. End of School Year

**Thursday, 4 June, 1992**

It was Thursday, the last day of their exam week, and Harry and Neville had just finished their last test, for History of Magic. They were both sprawled sideways on Harry's bed, staring across the room at their roommates, who seemed determine to make as much noise as possible in celebration. Eventually though, Percy stomped up to the room to tell them off for their ruckus.

"Not all of us have finished our exams you know," he said tersely, looking frazzled, which was explained by the fact that it was his O.W.L. year. "Some of us are busy trying to study. As a prefect, I must insist that you all simmer down or else take yourselves outside, so that we can have some peace."

In the end the three decided to head down to the lawns, though only after some grumbling and petulant words from Ron that made Percy deduct a point from Gryffindor for 'disrespect to a prefect'.

As the room emptied (Harry and Neville had declined the invitation to join the three others), Harry looked over at his companion, noticing the weariness in his face, the dark circles under his eyes, and the paleness of his face. Unlike Harry, who had breezed through the week, the stress of his first year exams had not been nice to Neville.

"You look done in," he said.

Neville groaned. "I know. I'm so glad it's finally over, but I'm worried I failed."

"I'm sure you did fine."

"But my Forgetfulness Potion didn't thicken enough, and the colour was off. And in Transfiguration, my snuffbox still had patches of fur and whiskers," he said fretfully.

"Look, there's no point worrying yourself about it now," said Harry. "It's done and over with, so thinking about it before we get our results back is pointless."

"Maybe you're right," Neville said, but he sounded unconvinced.

Harry looked over and stared at his weary form once more.

"Why don't you take a kip? You look like you could use it. Go on, I'll wake you for dinner."

Really needing the sleep and recuperation, Neville agreed, and soon disappeared behind his bed curtains. Once he was sure his friend was out for the night, Harry drug two items out of his trunk and returned to his bed, pulling his own curtains tight.

Sitting before him were two things: his invisibility cloak, and a bit of worn parchment. The second was something he had put together a couple of weeks ago. He'd taken a clean piece of parchment and charmed it aged, then enchanted it to perform certain functions. Deciding one last test was in order, he tapped it with his wand.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Instantly, ink began to appear on the page, lines spreading out to form words. ' _Mr Prongs regrets to inform a mischief-maker that the Marauder's Map is currently unavailable._ ' ' _Mr Wormtail says it's about time they took a break. Being a map is hard work._ ' ' _Mr Moony says that if the mischief-maker has a problem with this, they should contact our union._ ' ' _Mr Padfoot reminds Mr Moony that we have no union, and strongly suggests the mischief-maker not let our time off discourage them from causing havoc._ ' ' _Mr Prongs is still regretful that he cannot be of help at this time, but promises that we will be back to work soon._ '

Harry smiled and nodded. The personalities in the parchment were very limited, since he had not the original people to extract them from, but he thought they would serve their purpose nicely. If Fred and George activated this parchment, they should be bewildered, but not suspicious.

Tucking it into his pocket, he donned his cloak then sneaked from the room. Creeping down the stairs till he came to the door for the third year boys' dorm (he had one close call where he had to flatten himself to the wall as a seventh year headed up in the opposite direction), Harry drew his wand.

After carefully disabling the traps set in the door – it was the Weasley twin's dorm after all: such pranks were only to be expected – he crept into the room, relieved to find it empty. He hurried over to the battered trunk labelled with a 'G'. Not finding what he was searching for, he moved to the trunk at the foot of the next bed, labelled with an 'F'. This time he found what he sought, and left his charmed parchment behind.

Back in his own room a minute later, hidden once more behind his curtains, Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map that he had purloined. It would be of great use to him tonight, the night that Quirrell was to go after the Philosopher's Stone. Assuming that the timeline hadn't altered too much of course.

He had decided, after great consideration, not to go after Quirrell/Voldemort this time. Unlike last time, he knew the man did not have all the clues. Quirrell didn't know how to get the stone from within Dumbledore's rather ingenious protection of the mirror. Not alone, at least. If Harry himself went down to confront Quirrell however, he could be used to acquire the stone like last time, only putting it at greater risk.

And so, he was planning to stay put, though that wasn't to say he was going to stand back and do nothing. He had borrowed the Marauder's Map for a reason after all. Instead, he intended to keep a close eye on Quirrell's movements. The moment the Professor entered the forbidden third floor corridor, Harry had an anonymous letter penned, which he would send off with one of the school owls. The letter was to Dumbledore, explaining that Quirrell had gone after the stone.

In the original timeline, Dumbledore had told Harry he abruptly realised, halfway to London, that he ought to be back at Hogwarts. That was a suspicious story and he rather suspected that in truth someone had tripped an alert ward. So, just in case it was he and his friends who had done so, and Quirrell was skilled enough to avoid any such magics, the letter would alert Dumbledore to return and investigate. Harry was sure the old wizard was the best one to confront Quirrell/Voldemort.

..ooOOoo..

Things that night went of without a hitch, and the next morning Professor Dumbledore stood up at breakfast to make an announcement.

"If I could have your attention students," he said, and everyone quietened. "I have very grave news for you all. I am saddened to inform you all that Professor Quirrell suffered from an accident yesterday evening, and perished. For those students who have yet to have their DADA examination with the Professor, please note that your tests will still stand, but will be administered instead by myself. Thank you."

Short and vague, Harry thought, as the Headmaster retook his seat and worried questions and gossip spread across the hall.

"I wonder what happened to him," Neville said beside him, looking concerned.

"I don't know," Harry lied.

Personally, he suspected that when Dumbledore confronted the possessed Quirrell, Voldemort was forced to flee, leaving Quirrell for dead. His theory was supported by what he'd witnessed on the Marauder's Map; the dot labelled Quirrell had faded shortly after Dumbledore entered the mirror chamber with him.

Speaking of the map, he would return it sometime today, before the twins got suspicious. He didn't feel right just stealing it from them, even if was his father and friends' legacy. He would have to instead arrange some way to legitimately get ownership of it at a later date.

..ooOOoo..

The last Quidditch match, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, was held on Saturday. Ravenclaw won by a fair margin, the Gryffindor seeker – a seventh year girl – being really rather useless. The Quidditch Cup went to Slytherin once again, to most of the school's disappointment. Then on Monday the end of year feast was held, and again, to the other three houses' disappointment, Slytherin continued their several year long trend by taking out the House Cup also.

The rest of the holidays passed by quickly, especially since the first years had finished exams and classes and only had free time on their hands. Neville and Harry spent their days just hanging around, playing Gobstones and Exploding Snap, and occasionally indulging Ron with a game of chess, when the boy was having trouble finding opponents.

More importantly however, he and Neville slipped away to practice Occlumency. Neville was really coming along. Their standard yardstick of progress was to measure how quickly Neville started blocking, and how long it took him to hold shields for a five second stretch. The blonde boy could now start defending within ten seconds, and it only took him another thirty before he could raise his Occlumency shields for five seconds straight. The way it was going, Harry hoped to be able to reveal his secrets to the boy by Christmas at the latest.

On the Thursday after Quirrell's untimely demise, exam results were finally released. As expected, Harry had scored O's in most of his classes, except Astronomy and History in which he only got A's. Neville was just happy to have passed everything, receiving an A in Potions and Transfiguration and, to his delight, an O in Herbology and Charms.

..ooOOoo..

**Friday, 20 June, 1992**

As the train pulled into platform nine and three-quarters, Harry suddenly cursed and stood up, hastily tugging his robes off.

"Harry?"

"Sorry, just almost forgot I was heading out to the Muggle world. Uncle Vernon'd probably be torn between yelling at me and pretending he didn't know me if I came out wearing wizarding clothes," Harry said, pulling down his trunk and opening it just long enough to stuff the robe away.

"Oh," said Neville nervously, standing to pull down his own trunk, now that train was coming to a stop. "You will be alright with them, won't you?" he asked. Harry had told some of what they were like and it didn't sound good. "I know you went back for Christmas, but that wasn't for long."

"I'll be fine," Harry assured him.

"Well, okay. If you're sure."

Both boys then made their way off the train.

"Remember to keep practicing your Occlumency. You're really coming along. I think you'll definitely have it down by Christmas."

"A-And then you'll be able to tell me your s-secrets?" Neville said, quietly.

Harry halted in surprise, causing another student walking behind them to run into him. He apologised then grabbed Neville's arm, dragging him to a shadowy corner of the platform.

"Secrets?" he finally asked, staring appraisingly at his friend.

"Well," Neville ducked his head, "it's just that I've n-noticed- that is to say-"

"It's okay Nev. I'm not mad. Just explain what you mean."

"Well, I've sorta noticed you seem to be keeping s-secrets. You're very mysterious you know, and sometimes you- you skirt topics, or else want to say things but stop yourself. I figured maybe there was more to wanting me to learn Occlumency than just keeping Snape out my head."

Harry resisted the urge to gape stupidly. Inwardly he cursed himself for underestimating his friend so. He may be innocent and eleven, but Neville had always been observant. He read people well, for all that he was sometimes nervous communicating with them. Harry wondered what to say.

"I-"

"It's alright Harry, I'm not mad. A-And I'm not expecting anything. If you want to keep your secrets, even after I learn to shield my mind, that's okay," Neville said, looking completely honest.

"No," Harry shook his head. "No, you're right, I have secrets. And yes, that was an ulterior motive for teaching you Occlumency. Actually it was the main one. Because I do want to tell you them. I want to tell you everything."

"Really?" said Neville, looking hopefully, and Harry knew that for all that he'd calmly accept being kept in the dark, the blond really did want to know.

"Really," Harry said, nodding and smiling. Then he sobered. "But I warn you now," he said seriously, "that it's going to be big, what I have to tell you. And I mean huge. And you'll have to keep it secret too."

Neville drew himself up in a dignified manner. "You can count on me Harry."

And he smiled again. "Never doubted it," he said, clasping the other boy's shoulder firmly. Then he released it and looked back over at the crowd. "Now come on, we better get going before your Gran comes looking for us. That's one intimidating witch."


	12. A Reunion Meeting

**Wednesday, 1 July, 1992**

Harry sat at the desk in his bedroom, brushing the feather of his quill thoughtfully across his chin. He turned a page in his History of Magic textbook, finally finding the reference he was searching for, then put quill to parchment.

It had been almost two weeks since he returned to Privet Drive, and a mind-numbingly boring two weeks it had been. Upon returning home Uncle Vernon had locked his trunk away in the cupboard under the stairs. That was not much of deterrent for Harry however, who had been able to sneak it back up to his room the first night. A Muggle-targeting Notice-Me-Not on the cupboard door and his trunk then prevented any suspicion.

With his trunk, he was free to do his homework, so at least he had something to do. He'd also whiled away his time by subtly improving his bedroom with magic. The lumpy mattress was now softer and more comfortable, the carpet was thicker and plusher, the dings and scratches in the desk, drawers and dresser had been repaired, and the wood lightly polished. Of course, none of this made up for the fact that it was a tiny, cramped, little room.

He had considered, briefly, just finding somewhere else to stay. He could easily put his tracking charm (it had mysteriously been applied to him once more) on Dudley again, as he had a Christmas, and find a hotel room. Free of the Dursley house, he could even get a start on the Horcrux hunting. Unfortunately however, his pragmatic side had won out over any such plans.

Staying at the Dursleys long enough to recharge the blood wards had two benefits. One: it guaranteed him a safe place from Voldemort. Of course he could just cast a Fidelius somewhere else and be just as protected, but that wouldn't cover the second benefit. Two: it ensured he would continue to carry the protection his mother's sacrifice had afforded him. That was powerful magic; magic that had been used to overcome Quirrell/Voldemort the first time around, and hadn't been voided till his blood was stolen for the re-birthing ritual in fourth year. He wasn't quite ready to give up that protection. And so, he had resolved to remain at the Dursleys at least till his birthday.

He just wished he could write to Neville. He was sure that an owl correspondence with his friend would help make the days go by quicker. Unfortunately this was the summer preceding his second year, which meant Dobby had taken it upon himself to discourage Harry's return to Hogwarts by stealing his mail, to make him think he had no friends to return to.

He sighed, scribbling away the last line on his History essay. He blew on the ink till it was dry, then rolled the parchment up, picking up a tie to hold it closed. All he had left to do was his Astronomy, Herbology and Potions essays. He would leave it a few days though. He was trying to spread his homework out as much as possible, in the futile hope that it would stave away death by boredom.

..ooOOoo..

"Calm down Sirius," the amber-eyed man said. "Your pacing is giving me a headache."

"Remus, he should have written back by now," Sirius said. His once smooth voice was still a little hoarse from his long years in Azkaban, and probably always would be. "What if he's changed his mind? What if he doesn't want to visit me after all?" Then abruptly his self-doubting worry switched to angry protectiveness. "What if it's those Dursleys?" he growled. "Lily always said Petunia was horrible to her once she found out she had magic, and I distinctly remember her describing that Verne bloke as a brute of a man, and just as magic-fearing as Petunia."

When Remus had heard the news about Sirius' acquittal, he immediately contacted the former prisoner to express his apologies for not believing in him, and his happiness that he was now free. He expected to be rejected for his lack of faith, but to his surprise Sirius had responded with apologies of his own, for thinking him the spy, and opened his arms in forgiveness

Remus had been a frequent visitor at the flat Sirius had rented ever since. And then, after a fortnight or so, Sirius had approached him about becoming involved in his mind-healing. His Healer had suggested that the support of someone he trusted would be beneficial to his progress.

He had been flattered by the request and immediately agreed. It was not easy, sitting in on some of Sirius' sessions and hearing of the horrors of Azkaban, as well as being on Floo-call day and night whenever Sirius was stressed and needed someone to talk to, but he knew it was the right thing to do and he found it rewarding to help.

It was because of his 'support position' that Healer Bennington had pulled him aside yesterday, after Sirius' scheduled mind-healing appointment, to ask if he could do something about the situation. Sirius had been fretting over Harry's uncommunicativeness for days now, and Bennington explained that the uncertainty was not conductive to his state of mind, which could swing between emotional extremes at the best of times.

"Sirius," Remus sighed, interrupting the man's ramblings about increasingly unlikely scenarios for Harry's lack of response to his letters, "calm down. Firstly, it's Vernon, not Verne. Secondly, I'm sure Harry's not been kidnapped by dragons, or on a drinking binge in Vegas where he's gotten married to a chorus girl."

"Sorry," Sirius groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "I know my mind's completely buggered. I know I'm being ridiculous."

"You're mind's not 'buggered' Sirius," Remus corrected. Bennington had emphasised the importance of positive encouragement. "It's just injured, but it's going to get better."

"No it won't," he said, depressed suddenly. "I'm just a crazy old man and that's why Harry doesn't want to see me."

"Sirius, it _will_ get better. It already has in fact. Don't you remember how manic you were those first few months?"

He grimaced. "Yeah, I guess I'm not that bad anymore."

"And as for Harry, since he's not answering letters, there's only one way to find out what's going on."

"Oh?"

"We should visit him in person."

"Oh!" Sirius exclaimed, perking up at once. "That's a brilliant idea Moony! Just let me grab some Muggle clothes and I'll be ready to go," he said, zooming from the room.

"I didn't mean right away," Remus called after him, but knew it was too late and so sighed, shucked off his wizard's robe, and waited for Sirius to return.

..ooOOoo..

Harry heard the doorbell downstairs, and would have thought nothing of it if not for just _how_ it was rung. * _Ring-ring-ring riiing riiing, ring-ring-ring riiing riiinggg, ring-ring ring-ring ring-ring-riiinggg_ *. Harry's eyes went wide and then he snickered. He wondered if whoever just played 'La Cucaracha' on the doorbell realised just how unimpressed the owners of the house would be.

He heard the door opening, then distant voices. And then Petunia's voice became shrill enough to hear.

"… don't _care_ if you want to see the boy, I'll not have your sort around here!"

Eyes wide, Harry jumped from his seat and hurried out his room and down the stairs, wondering who it was. He reached the bottom step, turned the corner … and froze. There, standing in the doorway, was Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

"… like to see you try and stop me," Sirius declared in his usual reckless manner, none of them having noticed the presence of the boy in question.

"Sirius," Remus chided, before trying to reason with his stubborn aunt. "Mrs Dursley, I'm sure you received the notice from the DMCF about the custody arrangements, and the day visits Harry is to have with Sirius here."

"Received it? Of course we did! It came flying through the window one morning on an owl. Poor Vernon's temper was shot for the whole day. Now I don't care what some freaky government department says-"

Enough was enough, Harry thought, seeing Sirius' and even mild Remus' temper beginning to fray. He'd best step in.

"Sirius?" he asked, moving forward, and three sets of eyes shot to him, two happily surprised and one far less pleased. "You are Sirius Black aren't you? Only he said you were, and I've seen your picture in the paper."

"Harry," his godfather breathed. "Merlin, you look so much like your father. But you've got your-"

"Mother's eyes," Harry said, smiling, and hastily stuffing the overwhelming emotions he was feeling down using Occlumency. "Yeah, I've heard that a time or two."

"Yes," Remus chuckled, "I expect you have."

Petunia glared between the three of them, then seemed to decide the visitors weren't going to be leaving. Disgruntled, she sniffed in a meaningful way, gave them all disapproving looks, turned on her heel, and stalked off to the kitchen. Harry was relieved she wasn't going to make any more of a fuss, and especially grateful that Vernon was out with Dudley on some father-son bonding thing. Uncle Vernon would _not_ have taken the situation so well.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, turning to his one-time professor, "but do I know you?"

"My apologies, I'm Remus Lupin," he said, stepping forward to extend a hand.

"Nice to meet you Mr Lupin," he said politely, and Sirius snorted.

"Just call him Remus or Moony. He was friends with me and your dad. We were a quartet actually, James, me, Remus and …" he scowled suddenly, trailing off.

" _Pettigrew_ ," Harry finished for him, earning surprised looks for the way he spat out the name. He struggled to look embarrassed. "Sorry, it's just- well after what he did, I think I've a right to hate him."

"Of _course_ you do!" Sirius exclaimed loudly.

"Calm down," Remus said, in the reminding sort of way of one who has said something often.

"Right, sorry," Sirius said, taking a few calming breaths. He gave Harry a slightly ashamed look. "I- ah- the thing is, Azkaban has sort of put my emotions out of whack. You don't have to be worried, just- just expect me to be a bit …"

"Dramatic, at times," Remus provided tactfully.

"Is the mind-healing helping with that?" Harry asked. "You were going to get some, right?"

"Yeah, I have been, and it's been helping a lot," Sirius said.

"I'm glad. I won't worry unless you start doing something really outrageous then."

"Well, when you're dealing with Sirius," Remus commented wryly, "that's not really a sign of a problem so much as business as usual."

"Hey!" Sirius objected. "I resemble that comment!"

The other two snorted.

"I can see you're going to be a font of lame humour," Harry said, but grinned all the same, especially as Sirius contrived to look wounded at the comment.

"Just wait till you hear his Sirius/serious joke. Now _that's_ terrible," Remus agreed, adding to the man's pouting. "McGonagall started deducting points from him for using it starting mid-way through fifth year."

"Old Min just didn't understand my fine and distinguished humour is all," his godfather said with a sniff.

"Oh my god!" Harry gasped, laughing. "I dare you to call her that to her face."

The dark haired man immediately perked up, a mischievous look crossing his face.

Remus groaned. "You had to encourage him!"

"Well, what kind of Marauder would I be to turn down such a fine dare?" Sirius said gamely.

"Marauder?" Harry asked, and the man lit up.

"Oh, I have to tell you all about-"

" _Actually_ Sirius," Remus interrupted, "first we should find out what we came for."

"What? Oh!" Sirius sobered. "Right. Erm, Harry, we just came because you haven't replied to any of our letters, you see. And I was wondering," he asked hesitantly, "if you hadn't changed your mind about wanting to visit?"

Harry blinked, then understood. "No!" he exclaimed, but as Sirius slumped sadly he quickly rephrased himself. "I mean no, I haven't changed my mind." And his godfather perked up again. "But I haven't received any letters from you." He pasted on a confused look and said, "In fact, I haven't received any letters at all. Which is odd. I should have gotten _something_ from Neville by now. He promised to write me."

"You've received no letters at all?" Remus asked, concerned.

"None."

"Maybe a Mail Redirecting Spell," Remus muttered to himself. He drew his wand and indicated to it. "May I?"

"Um, sure."

He stood still as a spell was cast upon him and Remus frowned.

"I wonder who put a Tracking Spell on you."

"A Tracking Spell!" Sirius shouted. "Who's been spying on my godson?"

"I don't know Sirius. Do you want it removed Harry?"

Glad for the opportunity to get rid of it without suspicion, Harry nodded. Dumbledore would have registered Sirius and Remus entering the wards, then the Tracking Spell being deactivated, and assumed correctly that the visitors were responsible, and so not investigate. With a wave of Remus' wand, the spell was removed.

"There's no Mail Redirecting Spell on you. Maybe it's a ward. Do you mind if I check the house?" Remus asked and Harry just shrugged. Remus waved his wand, then blinked in surprise. "Well that was unexpected."

"What is it Moony?" Sirius asked impatiently.

"Blood wards."

"Blood wards?"

"And powerful ones. I wonder …" he trailed off, frowning thoughtfully, then seemed to light up in understanding. "Of course: Lily's sacrifice. She died trying to save you Harry, and that's powerful magic. And Petunia being of Lily's blood … I'd say someone – probably Dumbledore – must have set up the wards and cast a spell so that if you dwell with your mother's blood, the protections hold. That's some very powerful magic. I wonder what it can do …"

"Remus?" Sirius called, as the man descended into muttering. "Remus!"

"What? Oh," he said sheepishly. "Sorry, got carried away in thought."

"You and knowledge. You always were a borderline Ravenclaw."

"Yes, well. Anyway, in addition to the blood wards, there's a variant of the Notice-Me-Not Charm. It's one designed to prevent those not in the known from noticing any magic performed in the house or surrounds. It's a standard spell the Ministry puts on homes of Muggle-borns to help uphold the Statute of Secrecy. And then there's what we were looking for: a Mail Redirecting Ward. And it's strong enough, and you've lived under it long enough, that the magic probably lingers on you even when you leave the house. You'd have to do a Magic Cleansing Ritual to clear it up quickly."

"So that's why I've not gotten any mail?" Harry asked, though he knew that didn't make sense.

"No, it's set to allow mail by Hogwarts, the Ministry, people you know, and people with a personal connection to you. Letters from Sirius and your friend should have gotten through." Remus shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't know why they didn't."

"I can't believe that someone set up a Mail Ward without Harry's permission," Sirius said, scowling.

"Calm down Sirius," Remus said, again in that repetitive tone. "Just think about it. Harry's famous. Without that ward up, he'd probably be inundated with owls and fanmail."

Harry blinked. Strange that he'd never considered that. Even in fourth year, when Hermione was receiving hate mail for supposedly cheating on him with Krum, he hadn't received so much as a letter on the topic, supportive or otherwise. He shuddered at the thought of all the mindless drivel that fans must have written him over the years.

"Well I for one am glad it's there," he said firmly. "Although, I'd like to know where it's all being redirected to. It is still my property after all."

"That's a good question," Sirius said, but he looked somewhat appeased at having heard Harry wasn't upset over the ward.

"We'll look into it," Remus promised.

"But back to why we came. If you didn't get the letters, I don't suppose you know I've written to invite you over for one of your day visits."

"No, I hadn't. But I'd love to come whenever you're free."

"How's right now sound?" Sirius grinned.

"Sirius, give the boy a chance to prepare," Remus tried to object but Harry seemed to think otherwise.

"Sounds great!" he said. "I've got everything I need on me, so let's go. Just let me tell my aunt." He hurried to the doorway to the kitchen. "Aunt Petunia, I'm going out for the day with my godfather. I'll be back by five. Bye!"

Then he hurried back and out the door, Sirius bounding after him whilst Remus responsibly closed the door behind them all.

"So," the werewolf heard Harry say up ahead, "tell me about this Marauder thing."


	13. A Party and an Elf

**Friday, 31 July, 1992**

As Harry came down the stairs, Vernon was waiting at the bottom, face slightly red and moustache twitching. He most certainly did not like the fact that his nephew was frequently in and out the house, going off visiting his former convict godfather, but knew better now than to argue. The first time he had kept Harry from leaving, Sirius had shown up, highly worried. When he discovered Vernon Dursley had been 'holding his godson captive', he responded with punishment pranking. It had taken forty-eight hours for the green to fade from Vernon's hair. He'd taken off 'sick' from work and hidden in his room till it did. The man was much more accommodating about Harry's comings and goings now, fearful of a repeat punishment.

Still, that didn't mean he didn't give Harry a good telling off whenever he could, if only to sate his ego that he had some sort of power over the situation.

"Now, you listen here boy," the man grumbled as he reached the bottom step.

"Yes Uncle?"

"Today as you well know, is an important day," he said. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing Vernon wasn't talking about his birthday, as a caring uncle would. "The Masons are coming over for dinner. It could mean a big new order if things go right. And it better go right. I won't have any of your funny business messing it up."

He sighed. "I won't even be here."

"No you won't. And you'd best keep it that way. I don't want you returning to this house any earlier than nine o'clock, just to be on the safe side, is that clear?"

"Yes Uncle Vernon."

"Good," he nodded, glared one last time, barked, "And don't wear a hat in the house," and stomped off.

"I know what today is," a mocking voice called out once he was gone.

Harry looked over to the living room to see Dudley standing in the doorway. He was wearing a malicious smile.

"You've learnt the days of the week? Congratulations Dudley. That Smeltings must be something, to get anything through your thick scull."

Dudley scowled. "I meant it's your birthday," he said, then grinned meanly. "I bet your freak godfather and his ratty friend forgot too. Not like it's important."

"I very much doubt they've forgotten."

"Yeah, well," Dudley searched for something else to say, "your friends probably have, if you even have any."

"I have a very good friend, thank you very much."

"Yeah? One who doesn't even call you, or send you freaky owl letters?" Dudley said and Harry frowned, reminded of Dobby's interference. Dudley took this to mean he'd scored a hit however. "I knew it. No one'd want to be friends with a pathetic thing like you," he jeered, sneering at Harry, then returned to his television.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh that hurt," he said sarcastically under his breath, "because your opinion means _so much_ to me. Not!"

Then he turned and headed out the door. When he reached the sidewalk, he made sure no one was looking and subtly drew his wand, waving it in front of him. He waited a moment until … * _BANG!_ *. A purple triple-decker bus appeared on the road, screeching to a stop before him. Harry self-consciously pulled the cap he was wearing further down his head, making sure his scar was covered, as the bus doors were throw open.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for stranded witches an' wizards. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this afternoon," the pimply conductor said, and Harry stepped forward and gave the address for Sirius' London flat. "That'll be eleven Sickles, but for firteen you get 'ot chocolate, and for fifteen you get an 'ot-water bottle an' a toofbrush in the color of your choice."

Harry pulled his money sack from his pocket and handed over eleven sickles. Then he boarded the bus, taking a bed near the back so as to avoid conversation with the chatty conductor. He didn't want to be fussed over if they realised he was Harry Potter, and he'd prefer not to have to lie about who he was like last time just to keep the conductor and driver in the dark. He still remembered claiming to be Neville Longbottom, when fleeing from the Dursleys after inflating Aunt Marge.

Five minutes and a very jostling ride later, the bus came once more to a screeching stop, and Stan called out his destination. Harry clambered up from where he'd been thrown back on the bed and made his way down the isle, bidding the conductor and driver farewell as he exited the bus. The doors snapped closed behind him, and with a * _BANG!_ *, the bus was gone.

As he entered the building and walked across the lobby floor to the stairwell entrance, he gave the shiny elevator a wistful look. As part of Sirius' physical fitness routine, Healer Bennington had jinxed the building against Apparition, and then cast a Wizard Repelling Ward on the elevator, in order to force Sirius to use the stairs to reach his flat. His flat on the _seventh_ floor!

Finally reaching the exit door labelled '7', a puffing Harry Potter reflected that he really ought to work on his own fitness. This sort of weakness would have gotten him killed in the war. Leaving the stairwell, he made his way down the corridor to the door labelled '7c'.

Sirius had made it clear the door was keyed to his signature, and he should always feel free to come on in. He placed his hand on the door knob and heard a click as the locks disengaged and it swung inwards. He squinted into the darkness within, wondering why all the windows had been blocked out and the lights turned off. He took a hesitant step forwards, reaching for his wand when suddenly …

"SURPRISE!" voices yelled, and the lights flickered on.

Harry reacted automatically, diving into a roll behind the cover of the sofa, then leaning over to point his wand out the side, aimed at the 'attackers'. He managed at the last second to stop himself from casting a spell as he took in the room properly.

Sirius, Remus and Neville were all dressed in party hats, and the room had been decorated with colourful streamers and balloons. The three were standing there, arms raised from their yelled greeting, looking at him strangely.

"Er …" he said, easing himself out from behind the sofa, "sorry about that." He tugged his ear in embarrassment. "You caught me by surprise."

"Merlin Harry, you looked like you expected an attack!" Sirius said, as they all lowered their arms.

Harry resisted the urge to wince. "Well what can I say? I have the reflexes of a- a … well something with really good reflexes."

"Cat?" Neville supplied, even as Remus said, "Seeker," and Sirius cried, "Ninja!"

He blinked. "Yeah, something like that." Then he paused, took in the room again, and a smile spread across his face. "Wait, this is- you've thrown me a birthday party!"

"Sure did kiddo," Sirius said smiling proudly. "Although, it's not much of a party with only three guests; you really need to make more friends."

"No- I mean maybe, yes, I could do with more friends- but I mean, well, I've never had a birthday party before." His grin widened. "This is brilliant!"

Upon hearing this was his first party, the other three looked torn between pity for him and anger at his relatives. He quickly changed the subject, not wanting to bring down the mood, by bouncing forward to give Neville a brisk hug, thumping his back before releasing him.

"Neville, how've you been? It's good to see you."

"You too Harry. And I've been good. I- I was a bit worried when I didn't get any mail from you and then I wondered if- if maybe-"

"Maybe I just didn't care to write you?" he asked knowingly and Neville's cheeks pinkened. He rolled his eyes in a way that said the other boy was being plainly ridiculous. "Don't be daft, of course I wrote. But my mail's being interfered with for some reason we can't figure out." He looked up at Remus. "We haven't figured it out right?"

"No. Not yet."

"I know that now," Neville hurried to say. "About the mail being taken, I mean. When Mr Black wrote me to invite me for today, he mentioned it, and then Mr Lupin explained it more when I turned up earlier."

"Good," he nodded. "Though I really want to know where it's all going. _Anyway_ , back to the point: a party!"

"Yeah, happy birthday Harry!" Sirius cheered.

"Yes Harry," Remus said. "Congratulations on turning twelve."

"Happy Birthday," Neville also added. "I've brought you a present."

"Oh!" Harry said suddenly, looking up at Sirius. "Did that package I got you to owl order for me arrive yet?"

"It's in the hall closet. Moony even wrapped it for you. Hang on," the man said, hurrying over to the cupboard and pulling from within a brightly wrapped present. "Here," he said, handing it over to his godson.

"Thanks," he accepted the box, then turned to present it to Neville. "Here, for you."

"What?" the blond looked surprised.

"You didn't think I'd forgotten it was your birthday yesterday too did you?" he said, and his friend lit up. "I would've sent it to you but, like I said, my mail's being intercepted, so I didn't want to risk it."

"Thank you Harry!"

The rest of the afternoon and evening went well. It wasn't really much of a party, per se, given there were only four people, but they did have some fun. Plus, he got the chance to properly introduce Remus and Sirius to Neville and vice versa. Neville seemed a bit nervous around Sirius at first, but that eased as the man regaled him with tales and pranks of times gone by. He seemed instantly at ease with Remus however, which was understandable given the werewolf put off a mild, friendly, bookish vibe. In the other direction, once Neville left – his grandmother had ordered he return home by seven – Remus told him that Neville seemed like a very nice boy, whilst Sirius said he was a bit quiet, but had potential.

The rest of the evening was spent watching movies. Sirius had been awed with the progress television and cinema had made over the years. He'd previously only once watched a movie (at Lily's Muggle home many years ago) and had enjoyed it very much. He'd immediately, upon getting his new upscale London flat, gone out to buy a home entertainment centre, with much help from Remus who was the more Muggle-savvy of the two.

And so it was around nine thirty that Harry finally returned home. With all the fun and busyness of the day, he'd completely forgotten that something else significant was supposed to happen that day. He was abruptly reminded as he quietly sneaked up to his room, opened the door, and found a small being with bat-like ears and huge eyes, wearing a pillowcase, sitting on his bed.

He stared for a moment, before slowly closing the door.

"Hello," he said, "and who are you?"

"I is Dobby sir," the elf said, standing up to bow low before him. "Dobby the house-elf."

He tilted his head to the side. "And what's a house elf?"

"Oh, we is being wizard's servants sir. Bound to serve one house and family forever, we must do everything our master commands."

"So you're actually a slave?" he faked surprised disgust, even though this wasn't truly news to him.

"Yes sir," he nodded.

"Hmm, well what are you doing here? No offence, but I don't want a slave."

"Oh no sir. Dobby is here because … hmm, it is difficult sir, to explain."

Harry resisted the urge to offer him a seat. He knew that would only set the little guy off into wails about his kindness and likely wake his relatives. While he doubted they'd go so far as to lock him up this time – knowing that Sirius and Remus, two adult wizards, were looking out for him – they could still make things unpleasant.

"Just- just take your time then," he said encouragingly, then cursed his mistake as tears welled in great green eyes.

"T-take Dobby's time? _Take Dobby's time_!?" he cried, and Harry froze listening for sounds of his relatives waking. All was blessedly silent. "Oh, n-never has a wizard shown Dobby such kindness and _patience_! Dobby had heard tell that Harry Potter was great, but not that he had such goodness also."

He shifted awkwardly. "Erm thanks, but I'm really not that brilliant."

"Ah, and Harry Potter is also humble and modest," he said in awe. "It is truly Dobby's honour to be in your presence."

"Right." He decided to just let it go. "Well I'm … happy to be of service? Now perhaps you can tell me why you're here?"

"Dobby has come with a warning, to protect Harry Potter from harm, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later-"

"What?" he played ignorance. "Why would you do that?"

"Oh, as punishment sir. Dobby really should not be here. His masters would be most displeased Dobby is coming to see you. And to dare warn you … well, Dobby must punish himself most grievously. Yes, if masters knew, they would insist, if not punish Dobby themselves … but Dobby is being distracted sir. The reason I have come is this: _Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts_."

Harry stared, wondering how to respond. The silence of the night was long and loud. Finally he spoke.

"I can't not go back to Hogwarts Dobby. It's where I belong."

"No, no, no," he squeaked, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

"Why?"

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

"What terrible things?" Harry asked. "Who's plotting them?"

Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head frantically against the wall. Harry immediately jumped up and yanked him back. He held a hand over Dobby's mouth to silence him and listened intently. Next door, Vernon snorted in his sleep and rolled over, but seemed not to wake. He relaxed, releasing the house-elf.

"Okay, I get it. You can't say because your master wouldn't let you, and you have to punish yourself for even trying."

"Y-yes, that is it exactly, Harry Potter sir."

"Is there anything you _can_ tell me?" he asked and Dobby looked thoughtful before slowly shaking his head. "Well, thank you for the warning."

"Harry Potter will stay away from Hogwarts?" the elf asked hopefully.

He shook his head, "No," he said, and Dobby drooped. "I'm sorry but I can't. And even if I tried, I wouldn't be allowed. I'm fairly sure the Ministry makes sure all students are being educated. Even if I wanted to stay here, they'd send me back anyway."

Dobby had drooped even further, and looked devastated. Harry suspected his words had convinced the elf that keeping him away from Hogwarts was not so simple a matter as Harry just deciding not to go. Or rather, he hoped they had, because he really didn't want to have to go through Dobby trying to 'save' him again.

"So Harry Potter must go," the elf said sadly, "and he will most surely perish. Dobby's efforts have been in vain."

Harry wanted to reassure the poor house-elf; he wanted to tell him that he knew of the threat and already planned to neutralise it. But he couldn't. With Dobby bonded to the Malfoys, it was just too dangerous. So instead he tried to reassure him.

"Look, Dobby, what if I promise to be extra careful? You've risked a lot to give me warning, and I really appreciate it. Because of you I know to be on the lookout."

Dobby's great green eyes became misty. "Oh, Harry Potter thinks too well of Dobby. Dobby is only wishing he could be doing more."

"You've done more than enough," Harry said kindly. "Now, you'd best get back home before you're missed."

And then Dobby swept him another bow, so deep his nose brushed his toes, then with a * _pop_ *, he was gone.


	14. Horcrux Collecting

**Sunday, 9 August, 1992**

Harry attached the pouch, now filled with emergency potions, to one side of his belt. Then he picked up a second pouch, also expanded within like the first, and added a bulky pair of leather motorcycle gloves to its contents, before attaching it to the other side of his belt. He looked around the hotel room in which he had been staying since leaving the Dursleys shortly after his birthday, to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. He hadn't.

An Apparition and a three minute walk later, Harry found himself standing before a house wedged tightly in amongst a thick, shadowy copse of trees. It was a dilapidated structure with crumbling, mossy-covered stone walls, missing roof tiles and grimy windows. It looked only a few steps away from collapsing in on itself.

He raised his wand and focussed. " _Visumagicus_ ," he cast, pointing it at his eyes.

The spell was one designed by Hermione during the war, to aid in their Horcrux hunting. Complex and difficult to master, it allowed one to 'see' magic. Immediately the world looked different to Harry, as though viewed through a heat haze. As he looked around, he saw magic coating the building. He recognised it as an Impenetrable Charm. Nothing was truly impenetrable of course, but this came close, so he turned his attention to the obvious weak point.

The front door was clear of the Impenetrable Charm, but there was something else there. Magic of a different sort coated the door. It reminded him of an Alert Ward, and it was connected to … the dead snake nailed to the centre? He frowned and stepped closer squinting at the snake, finally noticing the strange spell on the reptile carcass. The subtle magic reminded him of something frozen or paused. A Stasis Spell of some sort? Then he looked closer, past the Stasis Spell, and jerked back in shock and disgust.

He hadn't known animals could be made into Inferi, but the dark rotted look to the magic was familiar and recognisable to him. That snake definitely was an Inferius: an animated corpse. It was held under a Stasis Spell of some sort; a Stasis Spell connected to an Alert Ward on the door. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going in. When someone touched the door, trying to get in, the Inferius snake was awakened to attack. No doubt it carried deadly, poisonous venom. The question was: what to do?

After considering the problem from several angles, he decided to go with the old tried and true method of dealing with Inferi: fire.

" _Flamma Repello_ ," he cast the Flame Repelling Spell on the door behind the snake, then quickly followed up with an, " _Incendio_ ," cast from a distance.

His caution proved wise when the magic of the spells awoke the rotted snake. It made mindless hissing noises, almost snake-like moans, as it writhed and twisted, straining open mouthed to reach and bite Harry, but held back by the nail in its spine.

Slowly, what little skin and flesh remained of the snake blistered and burnt away, till only magic held the skeleton together. He focussed on committing more power into the spell, and the fire turned blue then white. The snake bones were burnt to ash, and the hissing stopped. He lowered his wand, panting a little.

"Maybe I should've used a different spell. That one wasn't made to channel so much power," he said thoughtfully to himself, blinking away the spots in his vision that the light and magic both had left behind.

One last glance showed no other spells on the door, so he reached out and opened it. He stepped into a tiny combined kitchen/living room. As he stared around the squalid interior in the gloom, several items lit up to his 'sight' as being magical. Most though, were innocuous; the sort of magical odds and ends one expected to find in a wizarding dwelling.

There were two doors leading off the room. Seeing nothing of interest where he was, Harry headed to one and opened it slowly. It was a small bedroom, with two old, mouldy beds cramped within. A couple of rags that looked once to be wizard's robes littered the floor. Again, there was nothing magical of interest, so he withdrew back to the main room, and headed to the second door.

Again, he found a tiny bedroom. This one however had but one single, mouldy bed, though it was more of a pallet really. Again, some ragged clothes littered the floor, but these were dresses and female things. He knew he must be in the daughter's room, and given she was Tom's mother, suspected this to be the most likely place he would have hidden it.

His suspicious were proven correct as he spotted loose looking wall stone at about shoulder height, with a structured, latticework magical glow. He suspected the spell was a support of some sort, holding the stone in place. He prepared to cancel it before halting and first withdrawing the gloves from his equipment pouch and pulling them on. Then he raised his wand.

The magic flowed a bit sluggishly through the thick, impeding layer of leather, but flow it did. He cancelled the latticework spell and immediately the stone, or rather a shallow chunk of it, tumbled from the wall and broke apart on the floor.

Within the little nook that was revealed, his eyes caught the glint of a gold ring, glowing with dark magic, before latching onto the black stone with a familiar engraving that was inset upon it. He acted almost without thought, mind going hazy, hand reaching out to take the jewellery. In a stupor, he withdrew the ring with his left hand, then moved to don it on his right hand … only to be halted by bulky leather gloves.

The unexpected obstruction was enough of a distraction for Harry to shake off his trance. He took a gulp of air, for he had been holding his breath, and glared at the ring. It was still trying to entrance him, but now that he'd felt and conquered the spell, he knew it would not capture him again. He looked at the bulky gloves he wore with appreciation. They had worked exactly as planned. Sometimes it was the simplest solutions that were best.

Having planned ahead what to do next, he raised his wand – in a still gloved hand, as a precaution – and conjured a rat. Grabbing it before it could skitter away, he threaded the ring over its tail. There was a pause then a pain-filled squeaking, as the first the rat's tail and then slowly the rest of its body became victim to the curse upon the ring, turning black and withered.

When at last the rat was dead, he looked once more at the ring. Both the Entrancement Spell and Withering Curse had dissipated. The Peverell ring was now harmless. Or rather, as harmless as an object imbued with a fraction of the Dark Lord's soul could be.

Looking down at the stone littering the floor, he took one small pebble and transfigured it into a replica of the ring, then put in into the alcove. Next he waved his wand to repair the rest of the stone and directed it back to cover up the hole, holding it there with a Sticking Charm. Then, he banished the rodent remains.

It certainly wouldn't be enough to deceive Voldemort, but if he sent a Death Eater to check up on his ring Horcrux in his stead, it might just be enough to fool _them_. Now he just had to hide the ring somewhere safe till he had the means of destroying the soul within. There was a hidden, Fidelius Charmed section he'd created in his school trunk that should suit his purposes nicely.

..ooOOoo..

**Tuesday, 1 September, 1992**

The rest of the holiday had been much less noteworthy. Harry had a few more visits with Sirius, often with Remus present also. The two men even took him school shopping the week after his Hogwarts letter came. Unfortunately, he'd once more picked the day Lockhart was there for a book signing, and worse, forgot about it until he was dragged unwillingly into a photo with the fraud. He did notice, as he fled the scene with his school books (Remus looking sympathetic and Sirius torn between amusement and anger at 'that blonde puffball' for manhandling his godson), that there was a confrontation between the Malfoys and the Weasleys. Hopefully that meant things were going as planned.

A couple of weeks later, he returned to Hogwarts. His testing of Neville's shields on the train showed a pleasant surprise. Neville seemed to have reached a new understanding of Occlumency, and his shields were improving in leaps and bounds. He may just be able to come clean rather sooner than expected. He congratulated Neville on his progress, making sure his admiration was clear in his tone, and the other boy seemed to fill with pleased pride.

It was now late at night, after the welcoming feast, during which he awkwardly tried to ignore the blushing, fawning, gawking looks little Ginny Weasley was throwing his way. She was such a fangirl. She'd probably go into paroxysms of joy to know that Harry planned to sneak into her bedroom tonight. He grimaced at the thought.

Once he was sure everyone was asleep, he eased out of his bed and circled the room, quietly pulling back bed curtains to cast Sleeping Spells on his dorm mates, to ensure they wouldn't awake at an inopportune time. Then, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and headed over to the window, easing it open, and climbed so that he was straddling the sill.

"Right," he said, giving the long fall below a concerned look, "focus self, because we don't want this spell failing halfway through." He pointed his wand at himself once more. " _Pennalevis_." Then he pointed it at each hand, knee and foot in turn, intoning, " _Inhaero_."

Now Feather-Light, he reached his right hand out to flatten against the stone on the outer wall of the castle. Then he pressed his right knee and foot against the wall some distance below it. His free hand grasped the upper window sill, and finally, he eased his left leg out the window and then pressed against the wall below the sill. The Inhaero, better know as the Sticking Charm, was working perfectly, adhering him to the wall. Unable to help himself, he took a look down.

"Oh crap," he muttered, and turned back to the wall. "Heights are so not as fun when you're not flying. Just keep moving. Just keep moving. This would have been _so_ much easier if I had a broom. Just keep moving."

Gulping, he pulled his right hand free of the wall, and attached it again further along. Right leg, then left hand and leg followed, before the process repeated. Before he knew it he was crawling like a spider across the outside of Gryffindor tower. He slowly but determinedly made his way down and across the mini-turret of the boys' dorm, then across the broader stone wall of the Gryffindor tower proper, before making his way up the mini-turret that was the girls' dorm. He climbed till he reached one of the windows second from the top.

Using his wand – which had remained stuck beneath his right hand – he cast a Silencing Spell on the window in case the hinges squeaked, and eased it slowly open, climbing into the first year girl's dormitory. Once in the room, he cancelled all the spells on himself but the Disillusionment Charm, and sneaked around each bed, using Sleeping Spells as he had on his own year mates to ensure they wouldn't awake.

Once he was done, he found went to the foot of Ginny Weasley's bed and opened the lid of an old trunk that looked second hand at best. After five fruitless minutes searching he managed to locate a disturbing collection of boy-who-lived paraphernalia, including: a children's story book, a newspaper clipping of his photo with Lockhart, a worn looking Harry Potter doll, complete with flashing lightning bolt scar, and a foot long parchment scroll with every combination of Ginny Molly Wesley and Harry James Potter conceivable, surrounded by pink sparkling hearts. Disappointed at not finding what he'd hoped for, and disturbed by what he had, he closed the trunk and tried to think.

"Now, if I was an eleven year old girl with a secret diary, where would I hide it?" he wondered before being hit with a brainwave. "No. It couldn't be that simple."

Carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping redhead, he stuffed his hand in the space between the bed and mattress and reached it around. Hitting something solid, he pulled it back. Shabby black cover with 'Vauxhall Road, London' printed on the back, and on the first page – he flipped it open – yes, 'T.M. Riddle' written in smudged ink. It was the diary Horcrux.

Satisfied to have found what he was looking for, he headed back to the window. Several minutes later he had returned to his own dormitory the way he came, and was ensconced in his bed, Riddle's diary having joined the Peverell Ring in the Fidelius Charmed compartment in his trunk.


	15. Pixies and Broomsticks

**Thursday, 3 September, 1992**

Having spent the morning repotting Mandrakes – a sweaty, dirty, tiring task – the Gryffindor second years hurried up to the tower for a quick clean up before heading down to Transfiguration. Harry spent the lesson helping first Neville and then everyone else who looked to need assistance. After class was over he remained behind, Neville waiting with him, and approached the professor.

"Ah yes, Mr Potter. I assigned you a number of essays over the holidays, didn't I?"

"Yes Professor," he said, handing over a small stack of parchment scrolls. "They're all done."

"Very good. I must say your progress in Transfiguration is impressive and Filius – pardon me, Professor Flitwick – tells me you are doing just as well, if not better, in Charms. At the rate you're going I expect you to have completed the third year course work by the end of the academic year," she said approvingly. "Now, I know you didn't have much time to practice, what with not being allowed to do magic outside Hogwarts, but have you mastered any of the spells you were assigned?"

Harry nodded. "All of them, Professor."

She raised an eyebrow. "Well then, let's see them quickly now, then you can head off to lunch."

In the next few minutes, whilst Neville loitered quietly at the back of the classroom, Harry competently transfigured a raven into a water goblet, a snail into a whistle, two white rabbits into fluffy slippers, and a handkerchief into a silk wizard's hat.

"Very well done," McGonagall said with a rare smile. "You're free to go."

"Actually Professor," Harry said, "I wanted to see you about something else. I wanted to put my name down for the Quidditch trials."

"Yes, of course. Madam Hooch informed me last year that you showed some considerable talent on a broom. Will you be following in your father's footsteps as a Chaser? I have to tell you that if you do, you'll likely only be a reserve. We've a full Chaser complement already."

"No ma'am. I know the Seeker spot's just opened up and I'm going to try for that. It seems more my cup of tea."

"Very well. Gryffindor team's captain, Oliver Wood, will expect you on the pitch next Saturday at ten o'clock for tryouts. I wish you luck."

"Thank you Professor," he said, then turned and left the room, Neville in tow.

"I didn't know you were going to try out," Neville said as they walked toward the Great Hall for lunch.

"I've been thinking about it since first year, when Hooch took me aside and said I should give it a go next time. I do love flying, and Quidditch looks like it'd be wicked fun."

"Well you're definitely good on a broom. Really good actually. I think you've got a decent chance of making the spot."

..ooOOoo..

After lunch was the lesson he was dreading: DADA with Lockhart.

"Come on Harry, or we'll be late," said Neville, who had to practically drag Harry along. "I don't know why you're so worried. Everyone seems to think he'll be a good defence instructor. Just look at all the stuff he's done. Although," he frowned thoughtfully, "Gran's not a fan. She says he's just too slick, or something."

"Well you're grandmother's clearly a wise woman," Harry said. Augusta Longbottom had just risen in his estimation. "He's a fame obsessed glory hound, and he'll even take advantage of twelve year old boys to get what he wants," Harry claimed, then explained his run-in with the celebrity at Flourish and Blotts.

Neville frowned. "Well, let's hope he acts more appropriately as your teacher," he said, not liking the idea of his friend being used by Lockhart to boost his fame.

Harry smiled, glad Neville was reconsidering his opinion of Hogwarts' latest celebrity. Not that the convincing was really necessary. He was pretty sure the first lesson with Lockhart would quickly eliminate all respect his friend might have for the man.

They filed into the classroom and took seats. All the girls were whispering amongst one another and giggling, looking eager. The other boys were looking anticipatory, no doubt because they had yet to get the opportunity to meet their teacher and thus know better. Once everyone was seated Lockhart appeared, almost sashaying into the classroom, dressed in gaudy turquoise robes.

"Good morning students." He greeted them with a grand wave. "For most of you, this is your first, _privileged_ time, seeing me up close and in person. And yes, ladies and gentlemen, as you can now see firsthand, I really _am_ this good looking," Lockhart said, flashing a toothy grin that had the girls present swooning and the boys staring in disgusted disbelief.

Harry felt his upper lip curl. Was it his imagination, or was Lockhart even worse than last time?

"Is he for real?" Neville whispered to him.

"Sadly, yes," he whispered back.

"I think I need a barf bucket," they overhead Ron whisper to Seamus and Dean in the row in front of them.

"I'm sure you all recognise me – I _am_ somewhat famous after all – from your assigned textbooks," Lockhart continued. "From your reading you no doubt know that I am Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award. That's right students, _five_ times!" And again he beamed widely, setting all girls to sighing, and the boys to rolling their eyes.

"I thought we'd kick the lesson off with a little quiz. Now, now, don't worry! It's nothing too difficult and won't count toward your grades. It's just a little something to make sure you did indeed read the textbooks, which I'm sure you all did. My adventures do after all make for riveting reading, if I say so myself."

And then he was handing out the tests. The boys in the class looked in disgust at the rose coloured and scented parchment it was written on, whilst the girls, conversely, oohed and aahed over it. Harry wondered just what it was about Lockhart that turned the female of the species into mindless idiots. Was there some sort of Entrancement Spell or Compulsion Charm? Hmm, something to look into.

He filled in the test with responses such as 'don't know' and 'not sure', despite actually knowing a few of the answers; he had skimmed the books, realising that behind the exaggeration, lay stories of real heroes, whose memories had been stolen. With questions like 'What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour', and 'What is Gilderoy Lockhart's ideal birthday gift' however, he wasn't going to risk looking as though he took the test seriously.

Once time was up and all the papers collected, Lockhart stood at the front of the class. He then tutted about how few people knew his favourite colour was lilac, and complimented a blushing Hermione on getting every question right, which earned her teasing but admiring glances from her friends Lavender and Parvati. Eventually he shuffled the papers together and set them down.

"Now, for the rest of the lesson," the professor announced, "we will be learning how to deal with certain dark creatures. If you will all remain seated, I'll return in a moment"

And then Lockhart disappeared through his office door. When he returned he was pushing a wheeled cart, upon which sat something box-shaped, covered in a sheet. He came to a stop with the cart front and centre, just before his desk, and turned to the class with an overdone expression of graveness that had the girls biting their fingernails nervously.

"I have brought in today," he finally spoke, "some most fearsome creatures for demonstration. The covering you see emits a blanket of calm and sleepiness, rendering them temporarily docile, but when I remove it-" he paused dramatically, "-that will surely change. I urge you all to remain calm, and not to scream. The noise will only provoke these beasts to further heights of ferocity. Boys and girls, I present to you … creatures most foul … wicked and wilful … freshly caught …" and he whipped the cover from the cages dramatically, "Cornish pixies!"

The girls stifled screams whilst the boys stared in disbelief. In the revealed cage, small, electric blue creatures buzzed about angrily.

Seamus Finnegan snorted. "Surely you're joking. They're just pixies."

"Ah, do not be fooled child," Lockhart warned, "by their unimpressive forms. Cornish pixies are terrible, savage creatures. They are sowers of chaos and discord. And," he added, "they have _very_ sharp teeth."

"On the count of three, I will open the cage. I suggest everyone have their wand in hand, and ready to defend themselves." Whilst most of the boys just looked sceptical, Harry quickly drew his wand and Neville followed his example. "The incantation to use is 'Peskipiksi Pesternomi'. And now: three, two, one …" and he turned the latch, throwing the cage door wide open, "defend!"

Pixies swarmed from the cage, shooting across the classroom. Students screamed and ducked out of the way, but the creatures turned around to make a second pass. As they went they grabbed at books, quills and inkpots, shredding and shattering and throwing things this way and that. Parvati screeched as her hair became the rope in a tug-of-war between two competitive imps.

"Everyone, remain calm. Come on now, round them up. They're only pixies!" Lockhart said, voice high and strained, raising his wand. " _Peskipiksi Pesternomi_!" The incantation did precisely nothing. One pixie swooped down, grabbing his wand, and chucked it out the window. The now wandless professor looked around nervously at the destruction. "Er, right … well that sometimes happens and …"

Students were making a break for the doors, trying to escape. A cluster of three pixies converged on Neville, grabbing his robes and ears, beginning to drag him upwards. The boy cried out in pain, trying to bat them away. Enough was enough. Harry stood, wand raised.

" _Impedimenta_!" he cried three times, and the pixies attacking Neville froze, falling to the floor almost unmoving.

"Wonderful Harry, very good!" Lockhart cheered, backing toward the door through which most of the students had fled. "I'll, er, just leave it in your capable hands then."

And with that, he turned on his heel and ran out the door. Harry rolled his eyes in disgust and turned to Parvati, who was still being used in a tug of war, her two friends trying futilely to free her.

" _Impedimenta_!" he cast, and one of the pixies fell to the floor.

Hermione caught on and cast an Impediment Jinx on the second one, before the three girls hurried from the room. He turned to Neville, who was trying to help out by copying the spell also, to some limited effect.

"If you want out Nev, now's the time," Harry said. "I'm going to close the room off so they don't escape."

"I'm not leaving you," Neville objected, ducking as one of the sprites dive-bombed him.

Nodding, Harry pointed his wand at the door and windows in turn, and they slammed shut then sealed closed with a squelch. He then immediately set about disabling the rest of the swarm, with Neville's help. By the time all the pixies were littering the floor, Neville's spell casting – with occasional yelled directions from Harry – had gone from merely slowing the pixies down a fraction before they quickly shook it off, to slowing them enough to fall from the air, where they crawled across the floor as though in slow motion.

"Well," Neville said, puffing, "that looks like all of them."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, a little out of breath himself. He was reminded of his observation during the holiday that he ought to get himself back into shape. "I'll tell you one thing though. I really want to murder Lockhart right now."

Neville nodded. "Sure, go ahead. I'll be your alibi," he said without skipping a beat.

They looked toward one another and grinned, bursting out laughing.

"Let's get these little devils locked away before they get movement back."

They got to work, picking up the blue creatures and throwing them into the cage, silent but for a passing comment by Neville that he'd never look at Cornish pixies as harmless ever again. Finally though, they were done, and locked the cage.

"And not a moment too soon," Neville said, glaring at the pixies as Harry fetched the sheet. "Some of them are starting to twitch a lot and speed up again."

Harry flapped the sheet, lowering the covering over the cage, and the pixies within began blinking sleepily and curling up on the bottom. Job done, they collected what remained of their books and gear, stuffed it into their bags, and left the room. As they walked down the corridor Neville made a thoughtful sound.

"Hmm," he hummed, "I'll have to write Gran and tell her she was right about Lockhart."

"Very right."

"This'll be the second year in a row with a bad teacher though," Neville said, before paling and hurrying to correct himself, stuttering. "I-I mean- not to speak ill of the d-dead or anything. I d-didn't mean-"

"It's okay Neville. All due respect to the late Professor Quirrell, whatever he was like as a person, he wasn't the best qualified Defence instructor."

"Yeah. What I was going to say was we're going to get further and further behind where we should be. It'll be a problem come O.W.L.s. But I was thinking," he hesitated, "well, that you were really good with that 'Impedimenta' spell …"

"The Impediment Jinx," Harry supplied, wondering what his friend was getting at.

"Right, that. I was wondering if you're good at other DADA stuff … not that you have to or anything … you're already so much help with Potions, and in Charms and Transfiguration classes …"

"Just spit it out Neville," Harry said, not unkindly.

"Could you maybe tutor me in DADA as well?" the other boy blurted.

Harry considered for a moment. "Sure," he soon agreed, nodding.

Neville smiled. "Thanks. I think it'll relieve Gran to know I'm studying outside of class, since Lockhart's so useless."

"Not a problem."

..ooOOoo..

**Saturday, 12 September, 1992**

The Saturday of the Quidditch trials, Harry borrowed a school broom and showed up on the pitch. He had two competitors for the position of seeker: a slight sixth year girl, and a confident third year boy. The boy went first, bragging about how the spot was surely his. He turned out to be 'all talk' however, and was barely average on a broom. The girl went next. She was actually pretty decent: the right build, a good flyer, and with a sharp eye. Captain Oliver Wood was giving approving nods to himself. But then Harry took to the air and it was clear to everyone present that he was in a whole other league. Ten minutes later he finally landed again, hair windswept, to find Oliver dancing in giddy joy, cheering that the Quidditch Cup was surely in the bag this year. Needless to say, Harry got the spot. He immediately set about owl ordering a Nimbus 2001.


	16. Re-Befriending Luna

**Tuesday, 22 September, 1992**

Running late, Harry hurtled down the corridor. As he rounded the next corner he had but a moment to realise there was someone in his path before they collided and tumbled to the ground. Harry landed on the bottom on the pile, a soft limbed body sprawled atop him.

Groaning, he raised a hand to rub his head where it had impacted the stone floor, and opened bleary eyes to find himself staring up into wide grey orbs. Surprised at the sight of the familiar face, he blinked dumbly for several long seconds, before gently extricating himself and leaping to his feet, extending a hand to help the other person up from the floor.

"You're Luna Lovegood," he said, rather stupidly.

"You're Harry Potter," she echoed in mimicry of his tone, brushing the dust from her robe.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. How, he wondered, had he not realised that Luna would be at Hogwarts starting this year? He felt guilty at forgetting. Still, now that he'd been reminded he fully intended to pursue her friendship. How to go about it though? Well, with Luna, bluntly honest was always the best policy. And it didn't matter if it sounded odd.

"We were friends in a past life," he said to her, and technically it was true.

He expected her to calmly accept him at his word, despite the strangeness of his statement, but instead she stared at him unsurely.

"Are you making fun of me?" she asked in a bland tone. "Only, people seem to do so rather a lot."

He blinked and then sympathy flooded him. Of course they did. And this Luna was only eleven, barely a few weeks into her first year. He knew that her peers had rejected her right from the start. Luna had probably come to Hogwarts hoping to make friends, and wasn't quite over the disappointment yet. He stared at her kindly, and spoke in an open, friendly tone.

"I'm not making fun of you. We really were friends in a past life."

She considered him for a moment before nodding.

"Oh, how lovely. Was I a pirate?" she asked dreamily.

"A pirate?"

"I always imagined that in a past life I might have been a pirate. Or possibly a newt."

"No. Actually you were pretty much how you are now," he said with a smile, then recalling that he was running late, cursed. "Damn, I really have to go. I'm already late for class. I'll talk to you later."

"You don't have to."

"I want to. Like I said, we were friends in a past life. I'd like us to be friends again. Talk to you later."

And then he hurried off, leaving the young girl behind staring at his retreating figure, a surprised and hopeful look on her face.

..ooOOoo..

**Saturday, 26 September, 1992**

"Luna," Harry greeted the Ravenclaw friendlily as he and Neville ran into her – though not literally this time – in a corridor.

"Oh, hello Harry," she said vaguely, staring rather intently at his hair. "I've been thinking about your hair, and I've concluded you must have Perbigulums nesting in it. It's the only explanation for the way it defies gravity so impressively."

Harry blinked. "Really?" he asked. "I don't suppose you know a cure for that? My hair's been unmanageable for as long as I can remember. I think I'd rather fancy it laying flat for a change."

"But Harry," Luna's eyes suddenly went wide and teary, focussing on him directly now, "expelling Perbigulums from their nest would kill them!" Her lip quivered. "Surely you wouldn't do that to the poor creatures. They're just misunderstood."

"Of course not," he hastily assured her. "I didn't realise. Messy hair's not really that big a problem. If I've lived with it twelve years I can safely say I'm used to it."

"Oh good!" she cheered, rather louder than was necessary, then settled, gaze going dreamy. "Well, I must be off. I want to write to daddy about your infestation. I've never seen one so extensive. He'll be just fascinated."

"Sure. I'll see you around."

She smiled. "Okay. Bye Harry. Bye friend of Harry's who I don't know."

"Bye."

And then she skipped off. Harry watched her go with a fond smile, before turning his attention to Neville. He blinked to see the dazed and stupefied expression on his friend's face.

"Neville?"

"W-what was that? Is she alright? She sounded like she was Confunded. Maybe we should take her to the infirmary."

Harry laughed. "No," he shook his head, "that's just Luna. She's always that way. She's … unique."

"Right," Neville said frowning, before shaking his head, seemingly dismissing the encounter. "Shall we get going then? You said you'd found the entrance to the kitchens, remember. I've been craving a cucumber and strawberry jam sandwich for some reason. Do you think we could make one?"

"Cucumber and strawberry jam?" Harry eyed his friend strangely. "You're not pregnant are you?"

"What?" Neville spluttered, and Harry laughed at his reaction.

"Never mind. And in answer to your question, no you probably can't make one." Neville looked disappointed until Harry added, "But the house-elves will probably be happy to make one _for_ you."

"Hogwarts have elves? Of course they do. Stupid question. A wizarding building as old and big as Hogwarts probably has heaps."

"Hundreds. Now come on, there's a cucumber and strawberry sandwich waiting for us with your name on it."

..ooOOoo..

**Saturday, 3 October, 1992**

"I don't know Harry," said Neville as he was reluctantly dragged across the castle. "She- she's just a little creepy."

Harry gave his friend a disappointed look. "She's a sweet girl Nev. Admittedly quirky and bluntly honest too, but still very sweet. And most of her house seems to find her 'creepy' too, so she doesn't have any other friends. Just give her a chance?"

The comment about a lack of friends seemed to sway Neville. He'd confided to Harry that he'd not had any himself when growing up, and had feared he wouldn't make any at Hogwarts either. Neville was just too kind and sympathetic a soul to be unaffected at knowing Luna had no other friends.

"Well, alright then," the blond said. "I suppose if you like her, there must be something more to her. I'll give her a chance"

"Thank you."

They continued on to the library, where they were to be meeting Luna in one of the study rooms. Harry had run into her again on Wednesday, and in chatting, Luna had confided that she was having some trouble in her classes. Harry had offered to tutor her if she wanted and the girl had gratefully accepted. They'd agreed to meet up on Saturday.

They reached the library and made their way to the study room they'd booked. They entered, only to be greeted by a great sneeze.

" _Ah-CHOO_!" Luna sneezed loudly. She sniffled, dabbing at her nose with a handkerchief.

Harry and Neville took in the scene. A flushed, red-nosed, watery-eyed Luna Lovegood was sat amongst a pile of textbooks and parchment. In one hand she held a quill and in the other a giant of a handkerchief, coloured neon green. More strangely was her hair. In addition to the usual wand tucked behind her ear, her pale blonde locks had been slathered with some sort of dark bluish goo, which made her hair stick up worse that Harry's own.

"You alright Luna?" Harry finally asked, setting his book bag on the table and deciding not to ask about the hair. "Looks like you caught that flu bug that's going around."

"Oh no," she shook her head, hair whipping around with a squelching noise. "This isn't the flu, it's clearly a case of Trieggitis. I should have known better than to eat three eggs for breakfast three days in a row. It's … _ah-CHOO_!"

"Right, of course," he said concernedly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Quite fine," she said looking even more dazed than usual. "Shall we get started?"

Beside him, Neville sat down, staring strangely at Luna.

"If you're sure," Harry said. "So what's your biggest trouble area then? We'll start there."

"Charms," she said. "Professor Flitwick is so short he doesn't notice as he walks the isles between the desks."

"Notice what?"

"Oh, that the others are stealing my quills, jinxing my books, or hiding away my wand, and such."

That seemed to jolt Neville from his silent staring and he frowned.

"They pick on you?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm sure they're just being playful, but I do perhaps wish they wouldn't do it when I'm trying to learn the Levitation Charm."

Neville's frown deepened. "Luna, that's not fun, that's bullying. You should report them to a teacher," he said earnestly. "You don't deserve to be treated that way by anyone."

Luna stared at him for a moment. "Do you really think so?" she asked, looking even more watery eyed for a moment.

"Yes!" he said strongly and she stared a moment longer before smiling very brightly.

"That's very sweet of you, but it's not as bad as all that. Now, do you think you two could help me learn the Levitation …" She trailed off midsentence, blinking quite a lot, and then suddenly exploded. " _Ah-CHOO_! _Ah-CHOO_ , _ah-CHOO_! _Ah-CHOO_ , _ah-CHOO_ , _ah-CHOO_ , _ah-CHOO_ , _ah-CHOO_!"

Neville and Harry gaped in shock.

" _Luna_!" Harry cried. "How about we take you to Madam Pomfrey? Some Pepperup and that flu'll be gone in an instant."

"Oh no Harry, like I … _ah-CHOO_! … said, it's not the flu, it's Trieggitis," she explained, pausing to blow her nose with her giant handkerchief. "I've already applied the cure." She gestured to her blue goo covered hair. "It should start working any time now."

Harry hesitated. He was almost positive it was the flu, and not this Trieggitis that Luna had. He was also almost positive that her goo would not be making her better.

Neville was staring at Luna once more. Or rather, to be more precise, at her hair.

"Is that Bloobark sap?" he asked, then leaned forward and sniffed. "It looks and smells like it."

"Yes is it," Luna nodded. "It's the best cure for my Trieggitis sniffles."

A glance toward Neville had Harry blinking in surprise. He recognised the gentle but firm expression on his face. It was the same one the older, alternate timeline Neville used to get when talking Luna around one of her less than wise ideas.

"Trieggitis you say?" he asked her, and she nodded. "And the Bloobark sap in your hair should cure you?" Again she nodded. "But how long will it take?"

"Oh, it varies. Anywhere from … _ah-CHOO_! … a few seconds to a few hours."

"Right … Can I ask if you've ever tried Pepper-Up as a cure for Trieggitis? I know it's traditionally used for the flu, but the symptoms seem similar," he said reasonably. "I'm sure the sap will work eventually, but why suffer if there might be a quicker cure you could try."

"Well …" Luna stared at him unblinkingly, "I suppose it can't hurt to try."

As he and Neville led the girl up to the Hospital wing, Neville gamely joining in the chatter about Trieggitis and Perbigulums and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, and looking to find it only the slightest bit 'creepy', Harry smiled. Logic and calm words, but without undermining or disclaiming her beliefs; Neville had always been the best at reasoning with Luna. He was glad to see the relationship developing again. As much as his purpose was to change things, there were some things he was glad to see could still be the same.


	17. Training in Defence

**Wednesday, 7 October, 1992  
**

Harry and Neville were sitting in the common room, building a tower with Exploding Snap cards, when Neville brought up a topic he thought Harry had forgotten.

"Are you still willing to tutor me in Defence, Harry?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" he said, carefully tenting a seven and jack together.

"Just that you've not brought it up, and it's been a while since our first DADA lesson," Neville said, laying a card to bridge the gap to the new peak, finishing off the row.

"Ah, well I've been doing some research first," Harry explained, as he took two cards and started on the new level. "There are some old, bound professor's curricula in the library I took a look at, as well as a guide to the O.W.L. syllabus. If I'm going to be teaching you Defence, I wanted to do it right; make sure I cover what should be covered and all that. I think we'll have to go back and learn a lot that was missed first year as well."

"Wow." Neville sounded surprised. "I didn't expect you to take it so seriously."

"Well, DADA is an important subject, and we can hardly depend of the fraud to teach us what we need to know."

"Excuse me," an outraged voice interrupted, "but _surely_ you aren't talking about Professor Lockhart!"

Both boys looked over at Hermione. She was looking quite offended at their disparaging of the new professor. Beside her, Lavender also looked disapproving, though Parvati was another story.

"Yes actually," Harry said. "You've always seemed intelligent enough Hermione. Please tell me you see through that man's act."

"Act?" she gasped. " _Act_!? Professor Lockhart is a _more_ than satisfactory teacher. The things he's done… He's a hero! I mean just look at his acknowledgements: he has an Order of Merlin, Third Class, not to mention is an Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League-"

"Yes, yes," Parvati interrupted her to add mockingly, "and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award!"

Parvati Patil's opinion of Lockhart had taken a nosedive after their first DADA lesson. No matter what her two friends said in defence of the professor, she remained firm in her negative convictions. Girls being complex and confusing beings, Harry couldn't be entirely sure, but he thought he got the gist of why.

With the addition of Hermione, the Gryffindor girls in Harry's year had formed a trio. Whilst Hermione was still bookish, and had in this timeline chosen Lavender and Parvati as the subjects of her nagging to study, the two girls had also had an influence on her. Occasionally Hermione would come down for the day with makeup on, albeit just a touch, and the pair must have changed her shampoo or something, because her hair was regularly much less frizzy than Harry had ever seen before outside of the Yule Ball.

Nevertheless, despite this, Lavender and Parvati were still the girly girls of the trio. If Harry had been forced to guess, he'd say that the girlier and most fashion conscious of the pair was Lavender, by a decent margin. That one lived and breathed makeup, fashion, hair care and _Witch Weekly_. He had since come to realise however, that Parvati's vanity was simply more focussed. To be specific, it was focussed on her long, dark, shining hair.

How he'd figured that out was through observation. It was hard to miss the way the Indian girl neatly tucked her locks up into a witch's hat every DADA lesson after the first, and glared at Lockhart whilst defensively shielding her head with her arms whenever they passed him in the corridor. It seemed Parvati was hair-proud, and the pixies playing tug of war with her hair had earned Lockhart a black mark in her books.

"Parvati," Hermione said, "I know you're angry about-"

"He's pathetic Hermione, face facts. You're just too busy drooling over his shiny teeth and fluffy hair to notice!" she spat.

Parvati was also, clearly, more than a little bitter over the incident, and willing to hold a grudge.

"Lavender, talk to her."

"Oh no," she said, raising her hands and shaking her head, blonde curls whipping about. "There's no way I'm getting in the middle of this. All I'll say is what neither of you can deny: that he's definitely handsome. Absolutely _dreamy_ in fact."

Hermione sighed. "Okay, yes, but we were debating his educational merit, not his looks."

"Well, I think he's a terrible teacher," Parvati declared imperiously. Her fingers unconsciously smoothing the spot of hair the pixies had managed to rip out. She'd had to use a potion to grow it back, and complained that it just wasn't the same. "In fact, I'd love to hear what you have planned Harry. Do you have room for a second student?"

"What's this?" Seamus said, the other Gryffindor boys having listened in on the conversation. "You're teaching DADA Harry? Are you any good at it?"

"He's good at everything else," Parvati pointed out.

"Think you could give me some pointers too?"

"If Seamus is in, I'm in too," Dean added.

"But mates," Ron whined, "more work?"

"You don't have to join us."

"Sure, I could just be _left out_ ," he said sarcastically. "Nah, I'm in I suppose, so long as I can skip sessions when I can't be bothered."

"Well if you're all doing it, and Parvati's in," Lavender said, "then so am I, I suppose."

"What? I can't believe you all!" Hermione said. "Lockhart's a wonderful teacher."

"Think of it as a study group Hermione," Parvati soothed.

"Oh, fine," she sighed, swayed.

Harry meanwhile, had listened to the conversation with bewilderment. Now as they all stared at him, he felt a bit overwhelmed. He looked to Neville for help, but he just looked amused, and instead said:

"We should ask Luna along as well. Since we're covering first year stuff too, she should be on an almost even level with us."

Harry just stared. It looked like he was being roped into a mini-version of the DA. And three years early too. Finally, as he stared from one hopeful face to the other, he sighed, defeated.

"Fine, fine. I'll do it."

They all cheered and he huffed, turning back to his card tower. The moment he lowered a queen and a six to the top level however, they blew up, taking his left eyebrow and the tower with them.

..ooOOoo..

**Sunday, 11 October, 1992  
**

"Okay guys, now normally if we started at the beginning, school curriculum wise, there'd be some bookwork. Basic history of dark uprisings, Ministry regulations in relation to duelling and defence, that sort of thing," Harry said.

He stood at the front of the classroom he and Neville had cleared out yesterday. The other Gryffindor second years, as well as Luna, were seated at a row of desks that curved around his position. Well, sitting _atop_ the desks, as this was an informal class. Hermione was the only one in her chair, and she looked excited at the talk of 'bookwork'. Others, particularly Ron, looked less enthused.

"Come _on_ Harry," the redhead groaned. "Tell us we're doing something more interesting that that. Something not boring."

"Bookwork is not boring, Ronald," Hermione said, sounding scandalised at the mere suggestion. "There are so many fascinating things to learn about-"

"Hermione, cool it," Lavender said. "We get it: books good."

"Guys, maybe we should let Harry speak," Neville suggested and everyone quietened.

"Thanks Nev. As I was saying, normally we'd do that, but I'm bright enough to realise that a bunch of twelve year olds-"

"And an eleven year old," Luna chirpily interrupted.

"And I turned thirteen in September," Hermione felt required to add.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Twelve year olds, or thereabouts then. I'm bright enough to realise that bookwork won't hold most of your attentions, especially not in a non-compulsory class. So, I'll just give a basic summary, and then I'm handing out a parchment to each of you, with a listing of references you should read up on in your own time. Once that's done, we're going to do something interesting."

"Define interesting," Dean said.

"You'll find out soon. First, the basics. The latest dark lord was best known as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I assume you all know what he was really called."

Dean, with him all-Muggle background, was the only one to shake his head. "No one's been willing to tell me."

Harry paused, reluctant. After having lived under the Taboo he was hesitant to speak the name boldly and defiantly as he once had. The whole 'fear of a name increases fear of a thing itself' catchphrase was all well and good, until you'd lived through a time where speaking said name got you hunted down. Finally he gave in though.

"He went by Lord Voldemort," he said, and everyone flinched, Parvati and Lavender letting out little screams.

" _Blimey_ Harry," Ron said, pale. "Was that really necessary?"

"Sorry. He deserved to know. I won't say it again," he said, which appeased them all. "Now back to the story. You-Know-Who rose to power, starting in the early seventies. His followers were called Death Eaters, and his credo was pureblood supremacy. Or that's what he said to gather support anyway. Mostly he was a a psychopath who wanted to rule us all. He was defeated Halloween of 1981, at Godric's Hollow. He killed my parents, James and Lily Potter, before apparently being stumped by me, when I somehow reflecting the Killing Curse back on him, leaving me with only this scar." He briefly pulled back his fringe to show off the lightning bolt. All but Neville and Luna leaned forward in fascination, since Harry generally tried to hide the mark.

"The dark lord before that," Harry continued, "was Gellert Grindelwald. He wasn't much of a presence in Britain till the latter stages of the war. Mostly he stuck to the continent, where he played a part behind the scenes in the Muggle Nazi regime and World War II. His credo was 'For the Greater Good', which was his justification in his goal for wizards to rule over Muggles. He was defeated by Albus Dumbledore in 1945, and imprisoned – ironically – in Nurmengard, a prison he'd built to hold his enemies.

"Those are the two main and most recent dark uprisings. That was of course a very brief explanation. Now, onto Ministry regulations." Hermione, who had been taking hasty notes, perked up in interest, only to deflate when Harry said simply, "Basically: don't start it, don't kill someone, and don't be seen by Muggles."

Most of them seemed amused and appreciative of his brevity. Hermione did not share their views.

"B-but, that's a gross oversimplification of the ministerial regulations," she objected. "What about the 'Code of Wand Use'? Or the 'Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery'? There's some important information there. Or-"

"Hermione," Lavender interrupted, stifling the other girl with a hand over her mouth.

"He said 'brief'," Parvati pointed out, but then allowed, "But he did promise a reading list, remember? I'm sure that'll have some of that stuff you're going on about."

"The 'Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery' is not 'stuff'. It's the backbone of-"

"Hermione!" Harry interrupted. "Like Parvati said, there'll be more on the reading list. And like I said, bookwork won't hold the majority's attention. Which is why I've kept it simple. Alright?"

She sighed, sounding put out. "Oh, alright."

He nodded and continued. "Okay, now onto the interesting stuff: spell casting."

"Finally, something good," Ron cheered.

"I'm going to start you off with a very basic spell. It's called the Disarming Charm. The incantation is 'Expelliarmus'. I want you all to say it." They all chorused the word. He corrected Ron's pronunciation and then nodded. "Okay, and the wand movement, is thus." He demonstrated. "I want you all to try it, but don't incant just yet." They did so, and he made some corrections to most of them. Finally though, he was satisfied.

"Okay," Harry continued, "now follow me to the back of the room. Right, as you can see me and Neville cleared the area, and piled pillows up on one side. Everyone pick a partner. The first to cast, stand on the left side of the room, and the other person, stand on the right, in front of the pillows. They're going to break any falls." They hurried to obey. Neville paired with Luna, Dean with Seamus, Lavender and Parvati together, and… "Okay, no, definitely not," he objected. "Seamus, you're with Ron. Dean, with Hermione."

"What?"

"Why?"

"Because, you two together," he enunciated slowly, "are just a blow-up waiting to happen. Hermione, you're too superior and impatient. And Ron, you're too sensitive and temper inclined," he said bluntly, and before they could argue they noticed their friends nodding. "So, no. Now change spots. Okay, that's better. Now, on the count of three, I want you all on the left to cast the Disarming Charm on your partner. Okay? Alright. Ready… three, two, one, go!"

Results were varied. Hermione's spell gave a flash of scarlet light, and Dean tripped over backwards into the pillows, but managed to keep hold of his wand. Neville almost managed the same with Luna, the girl stumbling but just managing to stay upright. Parvati's spell was more of a red fizzle, and barely nudged Lavender, let alone tugged on her wand. Ron too managed a fizzle, but missed his target.

"Okay, you all need to work on putting more power into the spell, but that comes with practice. Ron, you could use a little practice aiming. Let me think on that. Now swap places with your partners. Okay, now on three again. Ready… three, two, one, go!"

Again, mixed results. Dean's Expelliarmus forced Hermione back a step, but she maintained her balance and retained her wand. Luna's spell was weak, though not as much as Parvati's, since he saw Neville grip his wand more firmly, his arm jerking as it was tugged on. Lavender's spell was a red fizzle, and missed Parvati by an even wider margin than Ron had missed Seamus. And as for Seamus, Harry had to act quickly to put out the sparks that had caught on Ron's robes.

"Honestly Seamus," Ron said, inspecting his robes for damage. He didn't find any; Harry's repair job had been quite well done. "How d'you always manage to set things on fire?"

"Eh, it's a gift," the Irish boy shrugged, though he looked a little sheepish.

"Okay, that wasn't bad for a first try guys," Harry said. "All of you need to work on power which, as I said, is a matter of practice. Magic, or our ability to use it, is like a muscle, people. Only giving it a work out it will make it stronger. Lavender, your aim needs work too. And Seamus, you fouled up the wand movements; I think that's where you went wrong.

"So, first…" Harry said, as he moved over to the blackboard and drew four concentric circles. "You two, Ron and Lavender, come to the front here. I'm going to teach you two the Paint-Ball Spell – basically a colouring spell with a small area affect – and then you can take turns aiming for the target I've drawn up, to practice your aim.

"The rest of you, meanwhile," Harry continued, "swap sides and try the spell again. Keep taking turns casting. Seamus, you'll be with Parvati now. Let her keep the casting position till I've finished with these two though. I want to correct your wand movements before you try again, so you don't set Parvati on fire too. She'd eviscerate you if you burned her hair."

Seamus gulped and nodded quickly as the Indian girl suddenly acquired a fierce look, indicating that yes, she would indeed be displeased, even homicidal.

He spent a few minutes teaching Ron and Lavender the spell. It really was a very simple charm, and soon they'd mastered it, so he left them to their target practice. He put Parvati into rotation with Hermione and Dean while he pulled Seamus aside. Correcting his wand movements took a bit more time, but eventually he felt it safe to put him against Parvati. The Irish boy earned a cheer from the room when his spell knocked the girl into the pillows, her wand dropping at her feet. Seamus looked visibly relieved that he hadn't harmed the hair.

Eventually Harry returned Lavender and Ron to the back of the room, partnered up, but told them to stand nearer each other, since their aim was better but still not perfect. By the time the lesson finished everyone had managed to disarm their opponent at least once, though in most cases the wand just fell to the ground at the bearer's feet. Only Neville and Hermione managed to send the wand flying in their general direction, though neither caught it.

Still, it was an encouraging first lesson, and the students all left in high spirits, chattering excitedly. Harry even thought a few of them – in addition to Hermione of course – would look into the reading references he gave out.


End file.
